

































ILL SEND YOU TO THE HOSPITAL.” Page 227 


V 


THE 


WORST 

BOY 

By EDWARD S. 

ELLIS 

A 

' » 9 

' * * 


AMERICAN TRACT 

SOCIETY 

150 NASSAU ST. 

NEW YORK 




/ 

Copyright, 1912, by 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 



t CI.A328004 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Dick Chandler . 



PAGE 

5 

II. 

A College Escapade 



1 9 

III. 

A Changed Outlook 



2 7 

IV. 

The Young Schoolmaster 



40 

V. 

Ampere Folks 



5 2 

VI. 

Starting In 



65 

VII. 

Talents .... 



75 

VIII. 

Getting to Work 



83 

IX. 

A Subscription Paper 



94 

X. 

“The Traveler’s Rest” . 



106 

XI. 

The School Bully 



1 18 

XII. 

The Deacon’s “Sympathy” 



134 

XIII. 

Buck Smith .... 



146 

XIV. 

Now! 



161 

XV. 

Great Results . 



171 

XVI. 

Friends in Council . 



182 

XVII. 

A Drunkard’s Home . 



191 

XVIII. 

Molly 



202 

XIX. 

Going Home 



211 

XX. 

Straight from the Shoulder 



224 

XXI. 

Lott Jorson 



232 

XXII. 

Rivals 



246 

XXIII. 

The Great Ball Game 



265 

XXIV. 

Two Decisions . 



281 



* 








































THE WORST BOY 


CHAPTER I 

DICK CHANDLER 

If there was a single verdict upon which 
the men, women, and children of Berwyn 
Township were unanimously agreed, it was 
that Dick Chandler was the worst boy that 
ever lived. Squire Gilkeson declared: 

“ He’s ahead of any one in state’s prison; 
I’d say he was going straight for that place 
if it warn’t for one thing.” 

“ What’s that? ” asked Billy Warner, the 
shoemaker, with whom the squire was hold- 
ing converse. 

“ He’ll be hung afore he can reach it! If 
the gallers don’t git him purty soon we may 
as well abolish the institootion. I s’pose the 
good Lord allows sich scand’lous young vil- 
lains to flourish for a time to sarve as a warn- 
ing and to keep Satan from going out of 
bus’ness.” 


5 


6 


The Worst Boy 


And the wrathful squire passed down the 
road at a pace that helped to relieve his 
roiled feelings. 

It was about the same hour on that sultry 
summer afternoon that Mrs. Liggett pulled 
her boy Tommy through the kitchen-door, 
laid him across her knee, and applied her 
slipper with unusual vigor. 

“There!” she exclaimed when she re- 
leased the whimpering youngster; “I guess 
you’ll remember after this not to play with 
that Chandler boy again!” 

“ I can’t help it, mamma,” sniffed the 
urchin. 

“ Can’t help it! What do you mean by 
saying that? ” 

“You lick me for playing with him, and 
he licks me if I don’t pBty*with Him; so 
what’s a feller to do? ” , . , • * » 

“ He does, eh? I’ll go and see his mother 
right off!” 

And the indignant parent snatched her 
bonnet from where it hung on a nail behind 
the door, and started hurriedly on her er- 
rand. 

On the evening of the same day Orson Par- 
sons, reaching his home from the city, called 
his son Arthur, a lad of ten years, to render 


Dick Chandler 


7 

his report on an important matter. The 
father, at a loss as to the best way to abate 
Dick Chandler’s tyrannies, had discussed the 
problem in the train with two other com- 
muters whose young sons suffered from the 
same persecution. By-and-by the parents 
agreed upon a scheme which, so far as their 
boys were concerned, promised to be effect- 
ive. This was for the three youngsters to 
combine and form what Mr. Parsons face- 
tiously called a “ trust.” In other words, 
they were to unite in an attack upon the 
bully — not all together, but in succession. 

The plan seemed a good one. 

“ Of course,” explained Parsons, “ which- 
ever of our boys opens the campaign 
will get the worst of it, for young Chandler 
is a terror; but he will be somewhat spent, 
and before he has a chance to gain his second 
wind he will be facing a fresh foe, who will 
keep him busy and ought to tire him out. 
The task of the third will be easy. Then 
the three can unite in a general assault and 
make their conquest complete.” 

One of the neighbors was thoughtful. 

“ Suppose the Chandler youth defeats all 
three? ” 

“ It is incredible, but, if he does, the others 


8 


The Worst Boy 


will deserve all they get; my boy won’t re- 
ceive any sympathy from me.” 

The others expressed similar sentiments, 
but none was wholly free from a misgiving 
that the plan might not work as well as they 
hoped. Mr. Parsons, therefore, did not wait 
until the evening meal was over before call- 
ing his boy before him. 

The appearance of Arthur was not reassur- 
ing. One eye was puffed, his nose was larger 
than usual, and more than one vivid scratch 
showed upon his chubby countenance. 

“ I made him change his clothes as soon 
as he got home,” explained his mother, “ for 
he was a sight.” 

“ Tell me about it, my son,” said the father, 
encouragingly; “I hope you three gave that 
Chandler boy a lesson he won’t soon forget.” 

Arthur hung his head as if he had no lik- 
ing for the subject, but his parent persisted 
and at last the truth came out. 

“ When I spoke to Sam and Jim they said 
their fathers had told ’em the same as you 
told me, and they were awfully tickled. We 
agreed to pick a quarrel with Dick on the 
way home from school. You know that’s 
easy, ’cause he loves to quarrel with any one 
that’ll give him a chance. I was to pitch into 


Dick Chandler 


9 

him first and fight as long as I could. Then 
I was to holler for Jim, and he promised to 
take my place and do the same as I’d done, 
and Sam was to finish Dick, if Jim hadn’t 
done it. Then if Dick didn’t holler 
‘’Nough!’ we’d all hammer him together.” 

“A capital plan!” exclaimed Mr. Par- 
sons. “It was sure to succeed; but go on 
with your story.” 

“ Well,” said Arthur with a sigh, “ I 
didn’t have any trouble in starting a quarrel, 
and we went at it as hard as we could. You 
know, father, I’m not any match for Dick. 
He’s much bigger and stronger.” 

“ Of course not, but I am sure you gave a 
good account of yourself.” 

“ I did the best I could, and when I 
couldn’t fight any more I yelled for Jim to 
take his turn, but he didn’t come, and I hol- 
lered for Sam, but he didn’t come either; 
and when I got a chance to look down the 
road, I saw them both running for home as 
hard as they could.” 

“The cowards! It was shameful to desert 
you in that fashion. Have you seen either 
of them since?” 

“Yes; after Dick tired himself out on me 
I started for home ’cross lots. I met Sam 


io The Worst Boy 

and Jim on the edge of Miller’s woods, where 
they were waiting for me.” 

“What did they say for themselves?” 

“ They said they meant to do as they 
agreed, but all at once both remembered that 
they had promised their mothers to hurry 
home after school and so they started. They 
said, too, that after watching me and Dick for 
a while they knew there wasn’t any use for 
them to help, for Dick could lick all three of 
us and not half try.” 

“ Well,” remarked the disgusted father, 
“ if all you boys have no more spirit than to 
submit to one bully, I hope he will make 
every day of your lives miserable. Not one 
of you is entitled to any sympathy.” 

“ I think, papa, you forgot something.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“ S’pose we three had licked Dick Chand- 
ler. We don’t live anywhere near each other 
and can’t always be together, and he’d be sure 
to catch us alone.” 

“I hope he will do so often; no matter 
how often he trounces you, you needn’t come 
to me with your complaints, and I’m sure it 
will be the same with Sam and Jim.” 

It was only three days after this incident 
that Squire Gilkeson harnessed his mare to 


Dick Chandler 


i i 

his light-running wagon and drove to the lit- 
tle country town of Readville to make some 
purchases for his family. The anniversary 
of American independence was so near that 
he invested a part of his funds in two packs 
of Chinese crackers for the pleasure of his 
twin boys. 

“ It’s a waste of money to spend twelve 
cents that’ll soon be burned up, and like as 
not make ’em lose their eyes, but I’ll look out 
for that,” he added, with a flirt of his head 
and a jerk of the reins. “ I’ll hand the things 
out to ’em one at a time, and sit on the piazza 
and watch ’em shoot ’em off.” 

The squire was alone in his vehicle well 
to the front and held the reins in one hand, 
frequently jerking them and chirruping to 
the mare, who paid no heed, but jogged for- 
ward with the unvarying gait that was no 
faster than a moderate walk. Although the 
old gentleman wore horn spectacles he could 
not see objects clearly unless they were close 
to him. He was also somewhat hard of 
hearing. 

Because of his impaired vision, he did not 
observe a boy walking toward him in the 
middle of the road and kicking up consider- 
able dust. The lad, however, recognized 


12 


The Worst Boy 


him and dodged behind a large willow at 
the side of the highway, where, because of its 
size and beauty, it had been allowed to 
stand. 

The youngster kept out of sight, peeping 
slyly round the trunk until the squire had 
passed. Then he slipped out, ran to the rear 
of the vehicle, and crawled in. The deaf- 
ness of the old gentleman prevented his hear- 
ing the slight noise, and he did not notice the 
small additional weight. 

Having entered the wagon without detec- 
tion, Dick Chandler looked around to see 
what mischief he could do. The squire had 
made a number of purchases in town and 
they lay in the straw behind him in the bot- 
tom of the vehicle. One package in coarse 
paper cqntained two pounds of soggy, brown 
sugar, which at that time was its cheapest 
form. Dick pushed his forefinger through the 
yielding paper and feasted until tired. Then 
a smaller package caught his eye. He un- 
coiled the twist of paper, and his eyes spar- 
kled. There were six sticks of candy wound 
about with ascending red stripes, like so 
many tiny barber’s poles. 

Dick squeezed these into his pocket to dis- 
pose of at his leisure, for just then he was 


Dick Chandler 


13 


surfeited with the sweets. He was about to 
explore further, when an unexpected ‘sight 
almost made him shout with joy. The fire- 
crackers — one pack for each of the twins — 
nestled in the side pockets of the squire’s 
alpaca coat. Being of a frugal mind, he 
made sure that he got his money’s worth. He 
had torn open the end of the respective packs, 
until he could see the clusters of little red 
cylinders, and had then shoved them back 
in place, with the main fuse, into which all 
the others were interwoven, dangling outside. 

Could there be a more resistless tempta- 
tion to a bad boy? He thrust a hand into 
one of his trousers pockets and drew out sev- 
eral soiled matches, which were not of the 
safety variety. One of these was whisked 
along the sole of Dick’s shoe. Shading the 
tiny twist of flame until it was well going, he 
crept softly forward and touched the wee bit 
of blaze to the fuse oscillating from the end 
of each pack. He paused long enough to be 
certain that the sputtering fire would do its 
work and then dropped out of the rear of the 
wagon. 

Squire Gilkeson had been absorbed for a 
half-hour in trying to solve the most difficult 
problem that had ever been laid before him. 


The Worst Boy 


H 

As he turned it over in his mind, he followed 
his habit of communing with himself: 

“ It looks to me as if Cale Perkins is in a 
tight place, though he may squeeze out, for 
he’s a mighty slippery feller. He says he 
found ’Lige Thompson’s bay mare in the 
public highway, she having jumped over the 
bars which somebody had let down. She was 
a mile from home when Cale met her and 
placed himself astride her back, the same 
being his intention to ride her home. That 
would sound reasonable if Cale hadn’t rode 
exactly t’other way from ’Lige’s house. Cale 
hasn’t made it clear how this happened, but 
some of his stories are ingen’ous. 

“ Cale had the mare on a gallop, heading 
straight as aforesaid, when who should he 
meet but ’Lige Thompson himself, who in- 
vited him to stop and explain things. In- 
stead of doing so, Cale put the mare to her 
best paces, and it was the easiest thing in the 
world for her to draw ’way from the old 
roan that ’Lige was riding, but he was that 
mad that he kept up the chase for more than 
a mile, when he come upon the mare crop- 
ping grass at the roadside, while Cale laid 
on t’other side, with his leg broke. The mare 
had throwed him, and Cale was in a bad fix. 


Dick Chandler 


i5 

“ On account of his leg, ’Lige couldn’t 
chastise Cale as he would have done other- 
wise, but ’Lige was mad clean through, and 
before Cale’s leg was fairly well he sued him 
for horse-stealing. When they ’peared afore 
me the case looked dead ag’in Cale, and I 
made up my mind to hold him. ’Lige had 
seen him with his own eyes riding away from 
his farm on the back of the mare. He made 
affidavit that Cale was running off with his 
property. 

“ And now Cale swears the mare run away 
with him, and he sues ’Lige for damages on 
account of his broken leg, that he got because 
of his trying to do a neighborly act by pick- 
ing up an astray horse to take home to the 
owner ” 

With an exclamation of surprise, the squire 
leaped from his seat under the impression 
that he had been struck by a bolt from the 
blue. Both sides of his alpaca coat were 
wrapped in smoke and flame, and the volley- 
ing explosions followed so fast that they 
blended with one another. The startled mare 
broke into a gallop, but he gave no attention 
to her. In the midst of his flurry he caught 
sight of Dick Chandler running down the 
road, so near that he was still in the old man’s 


1 6 The Worst Boy 

field of vision. With one bound the squire 
leaped out of the wagon, which went bump- 
ing homeward behind the frightened mare, 
and dashed for the fugitive, who broke into 
terrified flight. 

No boy could surpass Dick in running, but 
he quickly made the alarming discovery that 
he was overmatched, and was losing ground 
rapidly, before the long, slim legs of his in- 
dignant pursuer. In a panic he darted to one 
side of the road and whisked over the fence, 
but within the following three minutes the 
squire gripped him by the collar and swung 
his whip aloft. 

“ I’ll teach you how to set fire to a man! ” 

The lash whizzed through the air and 
stung the legs of the boy as if it were red-hot 
wire. He protested: 

“ Oh, Mr. Gilkeson! What are you whip- 
ping me for? ” 

The astounding impudence of the ques- 
tion stayed the upraised arm for the moment. 

“What am I whipping you for? ’Cause 
you’re the worst boy ever born; everybody 
that meets you oughter whip you within an 
inch of your life.” 

As the lash circled overhead again, the 
writhing victim wailed: 


Dick Chandler 


17 

“I didn’t do anything, Mr. Gilkeson; I 
seen your coat afire and yelled to you. 
Didn’t you hear me? ” 

Again the upraised hand was checked. 
Was it possible the boy was speaking the 
truth? Dick was quick to see and seize his 
advantage. 

“ I was so worried about you that I hol- 
lered, and seeing you didn’t hear me, ’cause 
you’re a little deaf, I started to jump into the 
wagon to help you, when you blew up.” 

“ What made you run away from me? 
Tell me that.” 

“ I was afraid some of the pieces might 
hit me. I’m awful sorry, Mr. Gilkeson, for 
you’re the nicest man that ever was.” 

The squire was puzzled. Perhaps the case 
of Perkins versus Thompson had befogged 
his brain. 

“ I don’t know whether to believe you or 
not,” he declared; “ I’ll think it over, and if 
I make up my mind I was mistaken, I’ll 
finish this licking. Off with you! ” 

Dick lost no time in vanishing from the 
spot, for he was in mortal fear that the old 
gentleman might change his mind before he 
could get beyond his reach. But the squire, 
his tattered garments still smoking, so that he 


1 8 The Worst Boy 

had to pinch them in several places, strode 
homeward, where he found a mare, a 
scorched wagon, and an anxious family await- 
ing him. A consultation with his wife re- 
moved all doubt as to Dick’s guilt, but the 
opportunity to repair this error of judgment 
was deferred, and finally the whole matter 
passed from the squire’s mind, crowded out 
perhaps by other happenings that were of 
greater moment. 


CHAPTER II 


A COLLEGE ESCAPADE 

In recalling the tempestuous boyhood of 
Dick Chandler there is only one incident that 
reflects credit upon him, and an analysis of 
that throws doubt upon its real merit. At the 
age of six years he began attending the coun- 
try district school. Several truths speedily 
appeared. He was the most mentally gifted 
of all the pupils. He seemed to study little, 
but his progress was astonishing. At the 
same time he was undeniably the worst boy 
in the class. His quickness in learning gave 
him more leisure for vicious mischief, and 
he improved, or rather abused, the oppor- 
tunity to the utmost. 

As a fighter he quickly forged to the front. 
He would attack a larger and older lad, and 
though he was defeated several times at the 
beginning of his pugilistic career, it did not 
check his aggressiveness. More than one boy 
who was powerful enough to vanquish him, 
preferred to keep out of his path or quietly to 
19 


20 


The Worst Boy 


submit to his tyranny rather than go through 
the experience of a bout with him. He was 
in reality the bane of the school and the pest 
of the neighborhood. When a farmer dis- 
covered that his choicest fruit had been 
stolen or destroyed in pure wantonness, he 
was likely to find that all clues to the iden- 
tity of the criminal had been hidden, but he 
had never a doubt in his mind as to the of- 
fender. 

Mr. Garland was a miserly, crusty old 
farmer, disliked by his neighbors because of 
his repellent ways. He lived with his two 
spinster sisters, who were as unsociable as he. 
He was the owner of a bulldog which, by 
many persons, was accepted as a fair type of 
Dick Chandler, for he was always combative 
and ferocious. His face was as ugly as could 
be, and his under-jaw projected to such an 
extent that Billy Warner insisted that he 
could hang his hat on it. All the same he 
was too prudent ever to make the attempt. 

The owner gave out that he had bought 
the brute as a protection against tramps. 
Before many days had passed, and several 
of those vagrants had come flying through the 
gate with the dog nipping at their heels, cer- 
tain mystical marks appeared on the fence- 


A College Escapade 


21 


posts. Touseled wanderers, when about to 
open the gate, caught sight of the hiero- 
glyphics and hastily turned away and passed 
on. The dog became so dangerous that his 
owner was compelled to keep him chained 
during the daytime, though he was always 
unloosed after dark. Once or twice he broke 
his fastening and caused as much alarm in 
the neighborhood as if he were a lion escaped 
from a menagerie. He was fired at and hit 
by several stray shots, but they did not seem 
to harm him. 

One summer afternoon, ten or twelve boys 
were swimming in the pool at the foot of 
the meadow on Garland’s farm, when cries 
of fright were heard. Quite likely the dog’s 
owner had set him free, pretending that he 
had broken his chain. Be that as it may, the 
first thing the lads saw was the brindled ani- 
mal, as it leaped from the bank into the 
water and made for them. 

The boys, in their panic, would have 
scrambled to land and run for their lives, 
offering their foe his best chance; but Dick 
shouted to them to stay in the water, and to 
dive when the dog came too near. 

“ He don’t amount to anything in here; we 
can soon tire him out.” 


22 


The Worst Boy 


Just then Dick saw that the brute was 
swimming straight for him. Probably it 
had been attracted by his voice. Dick fol- 
lowed his own advice. Watching the 
black muzzle until the jaws were ready to 
shoot forward and bury the fangs in his 
shoulder, he dropped below the surface, 
swam under the body, and silently came up 
behind the creature. 

The bulldog is not the most intelligent of 
his species, and this one must have expected 
his prey to rise in front where he could 
easily seize him. The first notice of his mis- 
take was when Dick grasped his knobby col- 
lar at the back and snapped his head under 
water. Such creatures are essentially land- 
animals and are at a disadvantage when out 
of their element. The dog struggled furi- 
ously, but the boy had little difficulty in 
holding him under until the creature was ex- 
hausted. He then flung him on the bank, 
a conquered animal. 

The maddest man within ten miles round 
was old Mr. Garland, who threatened to 
sue Dick’s father for the injury done by his 
son to his blooded dog. 

The boy at that time was fourteen years 
old. In the following autumn, having long 


A College Escapade 23 

passed beyond the control of his parents, he 
was sent to a military academy famous for its 
rigid discipline. Six weeks later he was back 
home, having been expelled as incorrigible. 
The district shuddered when it learned the 
fact of his return, and wondered what was 
coming next. 

Dick was an only child, and his mother 
was deeply religious. She had prayed over 
him from the day of his birth. Dick had 
some affection for his patient mother, whose 
tears often caused him real pain; but instead 
of turning that grief to joy by doing as she 
wished, he preferred simply to hide so far 
as he could his evil deeds from her. This 
was his way of making her comfortable. 

“ So long as she doesn’t know anything 
about the fun I’m having, and thinks I’m the 
goodest goody-goody in Sunday school, she’s 
happy, and so am I.” 

This was the principle that guided him as 
concerned the only parent for whom he cared. 
His father was stern and punished his son 
with severity, and was often impatient with 
his wife because of her tenderness toward 
him. When the boy came home in disgrace 
from the military academy his father deter- 
mined, as a last resort, to send him to sea, 


24 


The Worst Boy 


hoping thereby to put him beyond his sight 
and knowledge for two or three years. 

Before this step, with its doubtful results, 
could be taken, Mr. Chandler succumbed to 
a grievous affliction. He had shown for 
some time a growing eccentricity of conduct, 
which rapidly developed into delusions that 
caused his removal to an asylum, where he 
died a few months later, his mind so blank 
that he was unable to recognize his wife or 
son. 

When the estate was settled it was found 
that a moderate competence remained. Obey- 
ing his mother’s urgings, or rather a curious 
inclination on his own part, Dick matricu- 
lated at one of the leading colleges. He 
passed an excellent entrance examination and 
took rank as one of the brightest students in 
his class. 

Grief, no matter how profound, rarely 
causes permanent reformation, and Dick re- 
mained the same reckless, daring, conscience- 
less youth that he had always been. Several 
causes made him popular among the students. 
In addition to his brilliant intellect he was 
equally successful in athletics. While a 
sophomore he was given a place on the col- 
lege nine, and in the final game for the cham- 


A College Escapade 25 

pionship he made the play that brought vic- 
tory to his side. He was no less skilful on 
the football team, and, being already ac- 
knowledged the champion boxer, his asso- 
ciates felt real pride in him. 

It was at the opening of Dick’s senior year 
that a shameful outrage occurred in college. 
Three seniors who had drunk enough intoxi- 
cants to make them reckless became involved 
in an affray with several citizens, in which 
two of the latter were so badly injured that 
for a time their lives were in danger. The 
indignant faculty lost no time in setting an 
investigation on foot. Two of the offenders 
were identified and expelled, but they slipped 
out of town before the officers of the law 
could arrest them. 

During the trial, as it may be called, the 
two gave the college faculty the impression 
that their companion was a professional 
pugilist, with whom they started out for a 
good time, and who fled across country on the 
night of the terrific fight. He was described 
as a powerful savage, with a full dark beard, 
known in the sporting world as Black Mike. 
Since he appeared to have no connection with 
the college, no further attention was paid to 
him. 


26 


The Worst Boy 


Had the faculty probed further, or had 
either of the two who were punished chosen 
to betray their comrade, they would have 
given his name as Dick Chandler. 

And then the miracle happened! 


CHAPTER III 


A CHANGED OUTLOOK 

Dwight L. Moody, the inspired evange- 
list, had been conducting a religious revival 
in the college town for a fortnight, with the 
result of a spiritual awakening that shook 
the venerable institution from center to cir- 
cumference. At the height of the services 
he gave a private interview one evening to 
a student who had sent him a written request 
for the favor. 

When the caller presented himself the 
preacher was impressed by his appearance. 
He was tall, athletic, and handsome, and 
his face showed unusual intelligence. The 
evangelist saw that he was laboring under 
tense excitement, though he held himself 
well in hand. 

“Mr. Moody,” said he, “ my name, as 
my note informed you, is Richard Chandler, 
and I’m the worst young man in college — 
the worst in the state — there isn’t a viler 
wretch unhanged.” 


27 


28 The Worst Boy 

Moody sprang to his feet and caught his 
hand. 

“ It is just such fellows as you that the 
Lord is looking for.” 

“ If you had said the Devil, I should have 
told you that he found me long ago,” replied 
Dick, a little startled by the characteristic 
reception. 

“ Many of us can say the same thing, 
Richard; it is the best frame of mind that 
a penitent can have.” 

Dick sat down, shivering with emotion. 

“ I don’t think the Lord ought to par- 
don me: I don’t deserve it.” 

“ Who of us deserves it? But there is no 
limit to the love of the Saviour. Was not 
Saul of Tarsus converted while journeying 
toward Damascus to persecute the Chris- 
tians? ” 

“ He never was one-tenth as wicked as I ; 
he did what he believed was right, while I 
have been doing wrong all my life, knowing 
it was wrong. I feel as if the best thing 
I ^an do is to blow out these worthless brains 
and rid the world of an unmitigated pest. 
It would be better without me.” 

“ Oh, my dear lad, no good can possibly 
be accomplished by such an act. You are a 


A Changed Outlook 29 

young man and ought to have many years 
of usefulness before you. How much better 
to devote those years to undoing your evil 
past! That’s what the Lord would like you 
to do. He is waiting for you to consent. 
‘ Behold, I stand at the door and knock.’ ” 

With infinite tact, wise encouragement, 
gentle argument, and never-failing resource, 
that wonderful leader helped to guide the 
inquirer out of the valley of despair into the 
realm of hope and blessed assurance. Dick 
Chandler passed through the new birth, and 
if ever a man was soundly converted, it was 
he. 

Without consulting with any one, Dick 
went to the president of the college and 
confessed his shameful part in the affray 
with the citizens months before. He in- 
sisted that he should be expelled, and was 
prepared to accept the penalty. The vener- 
able man was startled and replied that he 
would consult Mr. Moody and think it over. 
On the advice of the evangelist the two 
students were allowed to return, upon their 
pledge of honor to reform their conduct. 

One of Dick’s first acts was to write to 
his mother and tell her of his conversion 
and his resolution to study for the ministry. 


30 


The Worst Boy 


Some months later, as he leaned over her 
dying bed and tenderly kissed the pale lips, 
she murmured with radiant face: 

“ I knew my prayers would be answered. 
I die happy; God be praised!” And so she 
passed away. 

Some time later, on a crisp night in Octo- 
ber, Dick Chandler descended from the 
rickety railway train at Riggsville and asked 
of the agent the way to the home of Squire 
Redwood. 

The man, who was writing with his stub 
pencil in his flabby memorandum book, 
looked up. 

“ Do you mean Squire Silas Redwood? ” 

“ The same.” 

“ That’s the road — straight ahead; don’t 
turn to the right or left. But do you know 
how far it is to his house?” 

“ I judge not many miles from what he 
wrote me.” 

“ It’s four of them! ” announced the agent, 
as if the distance were ten times as great. 

Dick laughed. 

“You don’t call that far; it will give 
me a chance to stretch my legs. I shouldn’t 
ride if a carriage were waiting me.” 

By the light of the lantern overhead the 


A Changed Outlook 31 

agent inspected the other from head to foot. 
He did not hide his admiration. 

“ Well, I can see the tramp won’t hurt 
you. Wouldn’t I give a good deal for your 
build! Will you know the squire’s home 
when you reach it? ” 

“ He told me it is an old brick building, 
standing among a group of trees on the left, 
and approached through a short lane, lined 
on each side with poplars.” 

“Couldn’t describe it better myself; you 
can’t miss it; there’s no house like it within 
miles. The squire owns fine horses and, if 
he knowed you was coming, would have 
met you here.” 

“ That’s why I didn’t tell him when I 
should reach Riggsville; I sent my trunk 
yesterday.” 

“ It arrived last night, and the squire took 
it away this morning.” 

“ Good-night, my friend.” 

Dick made a half-military salute as he 
wheeled, walked briskly to the other end 
of the shaky platform and sprang lightly to 
the ground, heedless of the two steps placed 
there for the convenience of those who used 
the cars. Entering the main highway, he 
swung off with the pace he showed when 


32 


The Worst Boy 


touring through the White Mountains, or, 
during his college days, indulging in a 
twenty-mile tramp. 

The clear sky was studded with myriads 
of stars. His short “ sack ” coat was but- 
toned up the front, his hands were thrust 
partly into the pockets at his hips, and he 
drew in the ozone, and enjoyed to the full 
the thrill of living. Riggsville was only a 
hamlet, and he quickly left the straggling 
houses behind. 

Chandler had finished his course at the 
theological seminary, his determination to 
enter the ministry being as unswerving as 
when he formed it after his never-to-be- 
forgotten interview with Moody. Like a 
sensible young man he retained his love for 
athletics, and, so long as he was at liberty to 
play on the baseball and football teams, held 
his supremacy over all others. His influence 
was for the best, for he was consistent in 
his life and never did a thing or said a word 
unworthy of his profession. 

Dick’s enjoyment of his triumphs in ath- 
letics was keen. He was human, and his 
blood tingled after he had made some des- 
perate attempt and succeeded. Time and 
again he was assured of the glory and profit 


A Changed Outlook 33 

that beckoned on the ball field, and but for 
his conversion, more than likely he would 
have yielded to the temptation that has won 
over many a college youth. But he smiled 
and shook his head, when each of the leading 
baseball clubs offered him a contract, cover- 
ing three years, at a salary for the season 
double that he could ever hope to earn in 
the pulpit. 

“ I thank you,” he said, “ but I can’t 
think of it. Five or ten years from now 
I should be a 1 has been ’ of no use to myself 
or any one else.” 

(( You could live on the fortune you would 
make,” suggested the manager of the cham- 
pion nine; “many men who were never as 
good players as you are wealthy now. You 
could open a saloon and your fame as a 
ball-player would bring you no end of 
custom.” 

Dick’s clear laugh rang out. 

“ I am studying for the ministry.” 

“ What of that? ” asked the persistent 
manager. “Nothing will help a sky-pilot 
more than to know how to line ’em out and 
scoop ’em in; I’ll add a thousand to my offer 
and make the contract for five years. Come 
now.” 


34 


The Worst Boy 


“ Rather I should go now,” replied Dick, 
who genially bade the magnate good-day. 

Chandler received several calls before he 
was licensed to preach. One was due to 
the admiration of a rich classmate, who, 
though not a professor of religion himself, 
insisted that any chap who knew the ball 
like Dick Chandler, would know how to 
preach. So this young man wrote to his 
father, who was president of the board of 
trustees of a fashionable church, and urged 
him to make a bid for the prize before some 
other church secured him. A call promptly 
followed, but Dick declined it, as he did 
all the others. 

Truth to tell, the young clergyman held 
some peculiar ideas regarding the ministry. 
He refused to appear before any congrega- 
tion as a candidate, particularly when sev- 
eral others did so. He was undecided where 
he ought to go, and with childlike faith 
relied upon God to direct him. He never 
doubted that He would do so, and he simply 
waited for the divine guidance. 

Once or twice he thought of entering the 
foreign mission field, but the call was never 
distinct enough to send him thither. When 
his friends reproved him for turning away 


A Changed Outlook 35 

from the tempting invitations, he replied 
that he was waiting for his Father to tell 
him which one to choose. Like Samuel of 
old, he would obey in the same hour that he 
heard the voice. Finally he made his deci- 
sion. 

“ I shall teach a country school for a time; 
the contact with children, and with the men 
who make their living from the soil, will 
be the best of discipline for me; I cannot 
fail to learn much that I need to know, and 
must become the better prepared for my 
life-work.” 

This is the way it came about that Dick 
was striding over the country road leading 
from Riggsville station to the home of Squire 
Redwood, the most prominent trustee of the 
Ampere school. 

As he had said to the agent, the walk was 
more pleasant than riding. He had declined 
the squire’s offer to meet him, for, after the 
long, dusty hours in the train, he yearned 
for bodily exercise. There could be no mis- 
taking the spacious, comfortable house when 
he came opposite the lane whose gate stood 
invitingly open. Through the cool shadows 
cast by the double line of poplars Dick 
walked observingly, eyes and ears alert. He 


The Worst Boy 


36 

caught the welcoming twinkle of light among 
the trees, and was drawing near it, when he 
was startled by the cavernous bark of a dog, 
which came tumbling over the palings and 
heading for him. 

The young man stopped, uncertain what 
he ought to do. 

“ I’ve heard that barking dogs don’t bite, 
but there are exceptions to the rule; I can’t 
say I admire the voice of that canine.” 

In the star-gleam he dimly saw the huge 
creature coming threateningly forward. He 
spoke soothingly, but the animal gave no 
heed. The situation was unpleasant, and 
was fast growing more so. Suddenly the 
door of the sitting-room was drawn inward, 
and the form of a man stood out in relief 
against the yellow light behind him. 

“ Shut up, Tige!” he called to the dog, 
who instantly stopped barking, but moved 
forward, wagging his tail so energetically 
that his haunches oscillated in response to 
the motor. 

Dick had never met Squire Redwood, but 
he knew that the gaunt, stooping figure, with 
the bushy hair and grizzly whiskers under 
his jaws, as they were brought out by the 
lamp-light, was he. The old man bent still 


A Changed Outlook 37 

farther, and shading his eyes with his hori- 
zontal palm, peered into the darkness. 

“ Who are you?” he called in a thin 
voice. 

“Your new teacher, Mr. Chandler,” was 
the cheery reply. 

“You don’t say! I’m right down glad to 
see you, though I don’t see you very well; 
can you find your way through the gate? ” 

“Yes, if Tige doesn’t object.” 

“Bless your heart, he won’t hurt you; 
wait till I fetch the lamp.” 

“Never mind; there’s no need of it.” 
While the squire was in the act of turning 
round, Dick, hat in hand, came through the 
door, glowing with health and high spirits. 

“ Good-evening, my friends,” he saluted, 
grasping the horny palm of the man, and 
then turning to his wife, who was knitting in 
front of the apple-wood fire which crackled 
on the hearth. 

“ Don’t rise,” he protested, as she caught 
hold of the ball of yarn in her lap and made 
the preliminary movement of coming to her 
feet. She obeyed, looking up with pleased 
admiration at the stalwart youth. 

In answer to their questions he said that 
his evening meal was over, and he couldn’t 


The Worst Boy 


38 

think of eating until the morrow, when he 
promised to astonish them by his appetite. 
As he learned afterwards, the couple with 
whom he was to make his home were in good 
circumstances, and had a son and daughter, 
both of whom were married and lived in 
another neighborhood. The squire was not 
only chairman of the school trustees, but of 
the trustees of the Ampere church, and none 
in the community was held in higher regard 
than he. 

It was on a Tuesday evening that Dick 
Chandler came to the home of Squire Red- 
wood. The Ampere public school had been 
opened as usual on the first Monday in Sep- 
tember, but a few weeks later the teacher 
fell ill, and was forced to go home, and 
Dick was secured to take his place. Having 
agreed to preach for a distant congregation 
on Sunday, and being opposed to traveling 
on that day, he could not reach his new field 
until Tuesday; but notice of the reopening 
of the school had been given at church, and 
the pupils were sure to be on hand on 
Wednesday morning. 

Dick greatly liked the squire and his 
wife. They were plain folks, but of more 
than ordinary intelligence. From them he 


A Changed Outlook 


39 


learned much of Ampere and its people. 
One remark, made by the squire, just before 
family prayer, was remembered by the in- 
structor: 

“ You’re going to have trouble with that 
school, Mr. Chandler, as sure as you live.” 

“ Why do you think so? ” 

“ I don’t believe there’s a worse one in 
the state; time and again the teacher has 
been compelled to give up and leave. It 
isn’t so bad in summer, spring, and fall, but 
a parcel of scamps come in the winter, with 
no other purpose than to make the teacher’s 
life miserable. Howsomever,” added the 
old man, glancing at the magnificent form 
before him, “ you look as if you could take 
care of yourself.” 

“ I hope so,” modestly replied Dick. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE YOUNG SCHOOLMASTER 

The Ampere school district was several 
miles in area. It was made up mostly of 
farms, many of the dwellings being widely 
separated. Its only semblance of a settle- 
ment was the hamlet called “ The Corners,” 
where two highways crossed at right angles. 
All told, the clustering houses numbered 
barely a dozen. They included three shops, 
owned respectively by a blacksmith, a shoe- 
maker, and a wheelwright. There was also 
a grocery store, and, more imposing than all, 
an old-fashioned tavern, upon whose creak- 
ing sign could be traced in faded gilt the 
words, “Traveler’s Rest.” On the farther 
edge of the extensive district was the his- 
toric Ampere church. Between the large 
upper front windows of the brick structure, 
the figures “ 1795 ” told when it was reared 
upon the site where two smaller and more 
ancient buildings had stood in turn. 

As one passed in front of “Traveler’s 
40 


The Young Schoolmaster 41 

Rest,” and walked a fourth of a mile, he 
came to a skeleton wooden bridge. A few 
rods beyond this was a small structure of 
stone, with a single broad front door and 
two windows upon each of three sides, the 
exception being the end next to the road. 
Here, just below where the stone chimney 
rose a foot above the roof, the figures 
“ 1823” were cut, by which token all who 
cared to know learned the year in which 
the Ampere public school building was 
erected. 

On a certain bright morning in October, 
nearly twoscore boys and girls were tagging 
one another, shouting, laughing, and frolick- 
ing around the schoolhouse, with the aban- 
donment natural to healthy youngsters who 
know that their hour of enjoyment is fast 
nearing an end. They ranged from six to 
fifteen years of age. The biggest was a 
negro lad, Pete Featherston, the bound boy 
of a neighboring farmer. Pete attended 
school most of the year excepting in mid- 
summer, and thus far had succeeded in mas- 
tering the alphabet, though generally he had 
to learn it all over again when he came 
back after his brief absence from instruc- 
tion. 


42 


The Worst Boy 


A sudden hush fell upon the group. Some 
one had excitedly shouted: 

“ Here he comes! Here he comes! ” 

Boys and girls became mute and motion- 
less and stared across the bridge to the top 
of the slope beyond. They saw a tall, mus- 
cular young man coming toward them with a 
long, swift stride. As he stepped upon the 
bridge the warped planks rattled under his 
tread. By this time the youngsters noted 
that he wore gray, well-fitting clothes, and 
a derby hat, that he was good-looking, and 
his face was smooth excepting for a dark 
mustache. As he drew nearer he cheerily 
greeted them: 

“ Good-morning! I am glad to see you.” 

Nearly every girl hung her head, with a 
forefinger thrust in the corner of her mouth. 
Most of the boys silently grinned, and Pete 
Featherston scrambled behind the school- 
house, and with a chuckle peeped around 
the corner. Not one of the pupils returned 
the salutation of the teacher, but he was not 
offended, for he understood it all. 

Inserting the key given him by Squire 
Redwood, Dick pushed open the door and 
stepped within. A glance showed him a 
rusty “ tin plate ” stove in the middle of the 


The Young Schoolmaster 43 

room, whose capacity enabled it to consume 
wood a yard long and to carry most of the 
heat through the long stretch of pipe to the 
chimney, where it was wasted in the outer 
air. 

Surrounding the stove were four low 
benches, an opening at one corner permitting 
access to the stove. On these benches the 
classes generally sat when reciting, or if the 
school was crowded, they were used by the 
smaller boys and girls. Around the other 
sides of the room, with the exception of the 
door and where the wood was piled, was a 
row of desks and benches facing the wall. 
The teacher’s broad, flat desk had the wood- 
pile behind, and the door when fully open 
just cleared it. The instructor’s chair had 
a back, but one of the arms was missing. 

With the smaller key that had also been 
given him by Squire Redwood, he unlocked 
the desk. Within was a rusty hand bell, a 
ruler, an ink bottle, a few pens, a holder, 
and a roll book, wherein his predecessor had 
written in a neat hand the names of the 
pupils, with a record of their daily attend- 
ance. 

Dick placed all these on top of his desk, 
and, glancing at his w r atch, saw that it lacked 


The Worst Boy 


44 

a few minutes of nine. Recalling the advice 
of a famous educator, he next did a trifling, 
but wise thing. He went to the door and 
asked several of the larger boys to bring in 
a few sticks of wood, since the interior, after 
he had raised the windows, was too chilly 
for comfort. It is a principle of human 
nature that the one who does another a 
favor feels better disposed toward him than 
before. It was no slight task for the boys 
to split and break up the kindling, for there 
was little choice, so far as sharpness was con- 
cerned, between the back and front of the 
ax. The laughing lads, however, toiled 
cheerfully and brought in more than enough 
fuel to last during the day. 

A little while after, the teacher asked Pete 
Featherston to give notice that school was 
about to open. The delighted Pete snatched 
up the bell in such haste that he stumbled 
in, dashing through the door, striking his 
head against the jamb. He was not hurt, 
however, and posting himself on the big 
stone that served as a step, he swung the 
instrument to and fro until every one of 
his playmates had passed by and entered the 
building. 

The children straggled in with no regard 


The Young Schoolmaster 45 

to order and shuffled one another in their 
strife for seats. Dick waited until all sat 
expectantly facing him. Then he gently 
tapped his desk with his ruler, and was 
silent until quiet reigned. He spoke for a 
few minutes, telling them he had come to 
be their teacher; that he was pleased with 
their looks, and was sure they would get on 
well together. He meant to do his best to 
instruct them, and knew they all wished to 
gain an education. He was too tactful to 
talk long, but he laid down a few rules, 
which he expected them to obey, gently 
warning them that he would accept nothing 
less than obedience. 

Having said enough, he asked them to 
join him in repeating the Lord’s Prayer. 
The proposal was novel and brought smiles 
to a number of faces, but on the whole they 
did well. Taking his seat, he next pro- 
ceeded to call the names written in the roll- 
book. As a boy or girl answered, “ Present,” 
he glanced keenly at the child, so as to im- 
press himself with his or her face. He was 
pleased to find that, of the fifty names, forty- 
two responded. Just as he had finished, a 
chubby youngster with a blue-covered book 
under his arm stepped quickly through the 


The Worst Boy 


46 

door, snatched off his straw hat, and grinning 
widely, hurried to a seat. 

“What is your name, please?” asked the 
teacher. 

“ Billy Brown,” was the prompt response. 

“ I am glad to see you, Billy, but don’t 
forget that school opens at nine o’clock in the 
morning and at two in the afternoon. Try 
to be in your seat when the roll is called.” 

“ Yes, sir,” was the respectful reply, with 
another grin that bisected the freckled face. 

And now the serious business opened. 
Most of the forenoon was employed in ex- 
amining children and learning their attain- 
ments in their studies. No systematic grad- 
ing was possible, as in these modern days, 
for beginning with Pete Featherston the 
colored youth, and his dubious knowledge 
of the alphabet, he found two boys and three 
girls who were so well advanced in arithme- 
tic, grammar, and history that they were 
enrolled as the A class. When school dis- 
missed for the noon recess the preliminaries 
were ended and real work was under way. 

One of Dick Chandler’s traits was his 
sense of the humorous. He loved the over- 
flowing spirits as they appeared on the play- 
ground, and thought none the less of a lad 


The Young Schoolmaster 47 

who showed a mischievous disposition in 
school; but he knew how necessary it was 
that such ebullitions should be held in check 
and the truth impressed upon the pupils that 
there is a time for work as well as for play. 
Moreover, he knew that the best method 
ever devised for holding a child out of mis- 
chief is to keep him busy. Again, when a 
set of pupils become languid from study 
there is nothing so refreshing as a laugh. 
Two or three times, Dick used some novel 
exercise, such as seeing who could add up a 
column of figures first, while he briskly 
called them off and they hurriedly wrote 
them on their slates. When interest in this 
exercise began to lag, he told a funny inci- 
dent that delighted all, after which they 
turned to their studies with new zest. 

Dick was quick to note the personality 
of each boy and girl. Billy Brown was a 
natural clown. During the afternoon, when 
the hum of study filled the air, the teacher 
glanced down the room and saw Billy press 
a forefinger under each eye, with his little 
fingers in the corners of his mouth. Then 
he drew down on the former and pulled the 
smaller fingers apart, with the result that 
his face assumed a frightful appearance, 


The Worst Boy 


48 

suggesting the masks with which children 
sometimes attempt to frighten one another. 

This display was for the benefit of Milly 
Sands, a mild, gentle girl, who was sitting 
near the stove and happened to look across 
at the youth. She was so indignant that she 
flirted her head, frowned, and centered her 
attention on her book. 

“ Billy,” called the teacher, “ I wouldn’t 
do that, for your face is homely enough as 
it is.” 

There was a general titter, and the cul- 
prit blushed and tried to look innocent as he 
bent over his speller. 

Harry Taggart, a slim, pale youth, was 
the athlete of the school. He had often said 
to his playmates that he meant to become a 
“ circus actor,” and nature seemed to have 
intended him for that calling. Looking out 
of the window at recess, Dick saw him turn- 
ing cartwheels, standing on his head and 
walking on his hands, with his feet pointed 
toward the sky. When he taunted another 
boy into a chase, his own skill in dodging 
always saved him from capture. He could 
climb, run, and jump amazingly. Further- 
more, he was the brightest member of the 
A class. Dick could not help liking him 


The Young Schoolmaster 


49 


from the first. When Billy Brown softly 
reached around the back of the boy next to 
him, and groped for a single hair on Harry’s 
neck, the other detected him, grasped his 
finger as quick as a flash, bit it, and never 
looked off his book. Billy snatched his hand 
away, shook it, frowned, and suppressed the 
“Ouch!” that rose to his lips. The teacher 
had witnessed the whole thing, but said noth- 
ing. He passed his hand across his mouth 
and wiped off the smile he could not wholly 
repress. 

“That will do; none of that,” he said 
warningly, a few minutes later, when Billy 
held a bit of twisted paper beside his head 
and aimed it at the nose of quiet, studious 
Warren Curtis. It was remarkable how 
instantly Billy turned the action into a harm- 
less scratching of his ear and seemed to be 
wholly absorbed in his lesson! 

Less individuality appeared among the 
girls. Milly Sands, Lizzie Donnell, and 
Hilda Douglas were the three girls who 
had been listed in the A class. In going to 
and returning from school they generally 
walked side-by-side, with their arms around 
one another’s waists. Until the teacher 
mildly objected, they sat thus most of the 


50 


The Worst Boy 


time while at their studies. Over their 
spelling lesson, interlocked in this fashion, 
they swayed to and fro in rhythmical unison, 
while their lips went through all sorts of 
contortions, as they conned the words. 

Pete Featherston was always happy. His 
size and strength kept off everything like 
imposition, while nothing seemed to ruffle 
his good nature. After poring a long time 
over his primer he proudly announced to his 
instructor that he knew every letter excepting 
b, d, and q, and a few others of “ no account.” 
The trouble with the letters named was that 
he couldn’t make sure which way their 
“ bulge ” turned. 

“ De man dat inwented ’em,” declared 
Pete, “ oughter made ’em all o's or x's or 
g’s; den I’d know ’em de minute I laid eyes 
on ’em.” 

Under the teacher’s patient guidance, the 
dusky student finally mastered the problem, 
and before spring came could spell words of 
two and even three letters, and was the 
proudest youth in Ampere district. 

As a rule, a crisis in the conduct of a 
country school comes within a week after it 
is opened by a new instructor. Some of the 
boys can be reached through their sense of 


The Young Schoolmaster 51 

honor, their love of study, or their pride in 
earning marks of merit, but there are always 
a few who are flint against such appeals. 
When the discipline of the school was threat- 
ened, Dick called the switch into use, and 
quickly quenched the mutinous spirit. He 
made himself the master in fact as well as in 
name. While administering the punishment, 
he said: 

“ I won’t say that it hurts me more than 
you, for it doesn’t hurt me a bit; you deserve 
what you are getting, and your crying won’t 
help you. Obey the rules which you know, 
and you will not suffer; disobey them, and 
you’ll receive more like this.” 

The culprits gouged their eyes, sniffed, 
and decided that the wisest thing for them to 
do was to obey. They forgot themselves now 
and then, but the smarting reminder soon 
wrought its perfect work. 

“ Every boy and girl has an immortal 
soul,” mused Dick, as he thoughtfully walked 
homeward. “ In a certain sense they are in 
my hands, and I must give an account of how 
I meet the duty placed upon me.” 


CHAPTER V 


AMPERE FOLKS 

ONE truth was borne in upon Dick Chand- 
ler; the teaching of the Ampere public 
school never could form more than a part 
of his work. He might persuade the boys and 
girls to be honest, truthful, studious, and 
obedient; he might be the means of leading 
the more intelligent to become Christians, but 
that was only a portion of his duty. It was 
his to look upon the whole field as his mis- 
sion, and to do his utmost, with the help of 
heaven, to improve the spiritual condition 
of the people. 

The young man was fortunate in being 
allowed to make his home with Squire Red- 
wood and his wife. Though the old farmer 
was uneducated, he was bright, observing, 
charitable, and carried his profession into 
his daily life. It was refreshing to the 
young man to talk with him; it not only did 
the teacher good, but gave him the knowl- 
52 


Ampere Folks 


53 

edge of the community which he needed in 
order to labor with success. 

“ So far as religion is concerned,” said the 
squire one evening, “ this neighborhood is 
about as near dead as it can be without giv- 
ing up the ghost. The last revival we had 
was over thirty years ago, when I was 
fetched into the church along with about 
twenty others.” 

“Who was your minister?” 

“ Doctor Hemingway — the same that we’ve 
got now; he was then quite a young man, 
and, no mistake, he did stir up things. He 
has aged a good deal in the last few years 
and really oughter give way to a younger 
man, but he hates to let go, and folks are so 
used to sleepin’ under his sermons that they 
don’t want any other preacher to wake ’em 
up.” 

“How often does he hold services?” 

“ When he’s able he preaches every Sun- 
day morning, and now and then comes to 
the mid-week prayer-meeting. Howsom- 
ever, he wasn’t present more than five or 
six times last year; there isn’t any excuse for 
me staying away, and when I go it’s pretty 
sartin I’ve got to take charge and run 
things.” 


54 


The Worst Boy 


“ How much attendance have you?” 

The squire smiled and shook his head. 

“ Sometimes eight or ten; three weeks ago, 
though tne night was clear and mild, the 
only person there beside Samantha and me 
was Dorothy Hemingway; she’s the darter 
of the doctor and belongs to the salt of the 
airth,” added the old man warmly, while the 
wife, calmly knitting, nodded in approval. 

“ Well,” replied Dick, “ the church has 
certainly got three live Christians in it.” 

“ Who be they? ” asked the unsuspicious 
squire. 

“ The young lady whom you have named 
and the man and wife who are good enough 
to give me a home.” 

It took a few seconds for this compliment 
to filter its way into the brain of the old 
farmer. As it was, he was a trifle later than 
his wife, whose faint smile showed that she 
understood the words. 

“ It’s very nice in you to say that, but it’s 
only half true. It hits Samantha right, but 
not me.” 

u Now, Silas,” said his life partner; “ you 
know it is all true, and what I have said 
ever since we met each other. Richard,” 
she added, turning to the teacher, “ we have 


Ampere Folks 


55 

been married forty-three years and in all that 
time he has never said a cross word to me.” 

“ For the good reason that you never said 
a cross word to me, or gave me any excuse 
for being disagreeable with you. May 
Heaven’s choicest blessings rest on your dear 
gray head.” 

The husband stepped briskly across from 
his chair and patted his wife’s scant, snowy 
hair. Then, as he sat down again, he re- 
marked : 

“ To get back to our church; it has been 
dying for twenty years; I have seen it and 
prayed over it a great deal, and done all I 
could to wake it up. But what can you 
expect when two of its leading members are 
Lott Jorson and Allen Whitsett? ” 

“ Who are they? ” 

“ Jorson is keeper of the ‘Traveler’s 
Rest,’ where he sells liquor to any one who 
wants it and does more than any ten men to 
corrupt the neighborhood.” 

Chandler was horrified. 

“ Why is he permitted to remain a church 
member? Has no one objected?” 

“ I have a good many times; I first talked 
with Lott; f tried to show him that what he 
was doing couldn’t be made to square with 


The Worst Boy 


56 

the profession of a Christian; I quoted from 
the Bible and named more than one person 
that had been ruined at his place through 
strong drink.” 

“What reply did he make?” 

“ It was the old excuse that I have heerd 
rumsellers give. Folks will drink — that is, 
some of ’em will — and it’s better to let ’em 
drink in moderation, and give ’em the pure 
stuff. He never allowed a drunken man to 
have anything at his bar, and really was 
doing good in the community. If he stopped 
selling, another would come to take his place 
and more’n likely the man wouldn’t be any- 
thing like as conscientious as him. It did 
seem to me that Lott really believed what 
he said.” 

“ Did you let it rest there?” 

“ I went to Doctor Hemingway; he treated 
me very nice and listened to what I said. He 
told me he would be better pleased if Brother 
Jorson would close his place, but there was 
some force in what he said, and if he did 
stop the business, things might become a 
good deal worse; he was a liberal giver to 
the church, a kind-hearted man, and the 
doctor was afeard that if he was brought to 
trial before the official board, more harm 


Ampere Folks 


57 

than good would be done. After that, I told 
Samantha I should quit.” 

Dick’s face flushed. 

“ It is a burning shame! I shall connect 
myself with the church on the first oppor- 
tunity; I shall try not to be rash, but I 
promise you that Brother Jorson will hear 
from me.” 

“ It does me good to have you say that. If 
you can shut your eyes to the sinful business 
Lott is in and has been for a good many 
years — the tavern having come down to him 
from his father — he ain’t such a bad fellow 
after all. He is liberal, and has done many 
kind things. I really feel more respect for 
him than I do for Deacon Whitsett.” 

“Who is he?” 

“ He keeps the grocery store at ‘ The 
Corners.’ Allen and me was born in the 
same year, and have knowed each other all 
our lives. As a boy he was the meanest 
youngster I ever met. He was a sneak and 
tell-tale, and the stingiest one in school; it 
growed on him as he come to be a man. 
He married Kitty Werner, a modest, sweet 
girl, but with no more spunk than a kitten. 
They hain’t got any children, and by his 
miserliness he has made himself by far the 


The Worst Boy 


58 

richest man for miles around. He has 
mortgages on half a dozen farms, owns a 
pile of railroad stocks and bonds, but half 
starves himself and wife so as to save more 
money.” 

“ He must contribute to the support of the 
church.” 

The squire caught the eye of his wife, 
who had resumed her knitting, and winked. 

“ Most folks think so, but me and Saman- 
tha knows different. Some years ago when 
our board was talking about the need of 
raising more money, the deacon said he 
favored the plan of putting all one’s con- 
tributions into the basket as it was passed 
around: that was his rule, and he meant 
to stick by it. ‘ Every Saturday night,’ said 
he, ‘ I prayerfully consider this dooty ; accord- 
ing as the Lord has prospered me I lay 
aside my contribution, and put it in the box 
the next day.’ 

“Nobody could say anything ag’inst that 
and nobody did, but when I reported his 
remarks to Samantha, she become as sus- 
picious as me. We didn’t say anything to 
each other, but she and me made up our 
minds to watch. You see the deacon passes 
the contribution box up and down the left 


Ampere Folks 


59 

aisle. His custom is, when he is all through 
and ready to lay down the offerings in front 
of the pulpit, to shove his thumb and fore- 
finger into his vest pocket, as if taking out a 
coin, and dropping it into the basket. He 
makes sure that the whole congregation sees 
what he does. My pew is at the front, and 
Samantha, without seeming to do so, watched 
him mighty close. She and me become sar- 
tin that the deacon was using a little sleight- 
of-hand. When he dropped his thumb and 
forefinger below the lid of the box, there 
wasn’t anything in them. 

“ The next Sunday was stormy and the 
congregation small. Of course the contribu- 
tions didn’t amount to much. I looked sharp 
into the basket, as the deacon passed it to 
Samantha who sat well back in the pew, and 
then in front of me next to the aisle. I seen 
everything it held: there was a quarter of a 
dollar, a dime, a nickel, and three coppers. 
They was spread out so I couldn’t make 
any mistake. As my pew was the front one, 
the next thing the deacon done was to pause 
a few seconds, so as to make sure all seen 
him, when he shoved his thumb and finger 
into his vest pocket and went through his 
usual motions. 


6o 


The Worst Boy 


“ After the benediction, I walked to the 
front, where the deacon had also gone to 
say something to Doctor Hemingway. Be- 
fore the doctor came down from the pulpit, 
I peeped into the contribution box and seen 
the same six coins that was in it when it 
passed my pew. The deacon offered his 
hand to me, with his oily smile, and I said: 

“ ‘ Deacon, I want you to clear up a mys- 
tery for me.’ 

“ ‘ What’s that? ’ he asked, sort of sur- 
prised; ‘I hope it ain’t got anything to do 
with your lack of faith. Beware of that, 
Brother Silas.’ 

“‘No; it isn’t that; when you passed the 
contribution box into our pew, it held a 
quarter, a dime, a nickel, and three coppers. 
The mystery is what has become of the coin 
you put in.’ 

“ Doctor Hemingway was coming down 
the pulpit steps and would be with us the 
next minute. The deacon spoke up prompt: 

“ ‘ It must be, Silas, that you took out the 
quarter, for I put that one in, I’m sartin.’ 

“ That ended my butting in, but it had one 
good result. After that on every Sunday the 
deacon did put in a coin; he knowed my 
eye was on him, and he made the money 


Ampere Folks 


6i 


jingle. From the sound I could tell it was a 
copper. Anyhow,” added the squire with a 
grin, “ the church gets about half a dollar 
each year more than it did before I asked 
the deacon to clear up the mystery for me. 
But let’s talk of more pleasant things. Doc- 
tor Hemingway has been a widower for 
eight years, and his daughter Dorothy takes 
charge of the parsonage. She was graduated 
from Vassar last spring and we was all 
mighty glad to see her back with us ag’in, 
for, as I obsarved a while ago, she is of the 
salt of the airth.” 

“ Will you explain more fully? ” 

“ Well, she is one of them girls that is 
born good. She j’ined the church when 
she was only nine years old. Even before 
that, she had been doing her Christian works. 
She went among the poorest folks we have 
down in Bear Holler and took ’em food and 
medicine and clothes. She never missed a 
day when old Aunt Sarah, a colored woman, 
was in her last illness. Dorothy carried her 
good things to eat, sang hymns in her voice, 
which is like an angel’s, and read from the 
Bible to her. The last words Aunt Sarah 
spoke was blessings on that child. 

“ That is only one of the hundreds of good 


62 


The Worst Boy 


things she is always doing. Her father gives 
her a liberal allowance and she spends it all 
in charity and then coaxes more from him. 
She never was absent from our prayer-meet- 
ings, for when they was held a long way 
from the parsonage, I made it a rule to go 
after her and to see her home ag’in. She 
is modest and not too forward, but is never 
happy unless she is doing some kind act. 
I was a little afeard that when she went 
East to that big woman’s college, it might 
sp’ile her, but it didn’t hurt her a bit. The 
next day after she come home she dashed 
in here like a burst of God’s sunshine and 
threw her arms about Samantha’s and my 
neck. Then with her basket of good things 
she danced away to Bear Holler.” 

“ And that isn’t all she done,” interposed 
the old lady. 

“ By no means, but what have you in 
mind, Samantha?”. 

“ The Sunday-school.” 

“ Sure enough; when I was a young man, 
we had a Sunday-school in charge of Brother 
Murdock, who done well with it; but, after 
he passed to his reward, it grew weaker and 
weaker till it died out altogether. Dorothy 
started right in to revive it. She went among 


Ampere Folks 63 

a lot of brothers and sisters asking them to 
help, but they all made excuses.” 

“Not all,” gently interposed the wife; 
“you didn’t.” 

“ Bless my heart! Could I refuse anything 
that girl asked me? I told her I didn’t know 
how to teach and oughter be in her primary 
class, but I didn’t hold back; I go every 
Sunday, sure of seeing Dorothy there, and 
I do my best to teach them as don’t know 
much, while she sort of superintends and has 
a Bible class, most of her scholars being old 
enough to be her mother.” 

“ Flow many pupils have you? ” 

“ Twenty-four when they’re all there, an’ 
now an’ then she drums up a new one. Four 
of the boys and two of the girls are colored. 
When their mothers made excuse that their 
children hadn’t good enough clothes to wear, 
she forced her father to give her money to 
fit ’em out nice and proper.” 

“ What an example! Squire, I should like 
to join that school as teacher along with 
you.” 

“ Oh, that’s been fixed,” airily replied the 
squire; “I had a talk with Dorothy to-day 
and told her all about you. She asked me to 
invite you to jine the Sunday-school.” 


6 4 


The Worst Boy 


“What reply did you make?” 

“ I said there wasn’t any need of inviting 
you; it was right in your line, and she could 
count on your being on hand next Sunday 
afternoon. Was I right, Richard?” 

“ Never more so,” was the warm reply. 


CHAPTER VI 


STARTING IN 

That same evening, Dick called at the 
parsonage, which was a mile from the home 
of Squire Redwood, in the opposite direc- 
tion from the schoolhouse. His first sight 
of the “ manse,” as some called it, impressed 
him favorably. Doctor Hemingway must 
have had means of his own, for the grounds 
were extensive and beautiful, and the build- 
ing itself the finest for miles around. 

Dick felt it proper to make his call instead 
of waiting for the clergyman. He walked 
briskly up the winding graveled walk, and 
stepping upon the broad porch, sounded the 
old-fashioned brass knocker. A young col- 
ored man answered the summons to whom 
the caller handed his card. A few minutes 
later, he was ushered into the library, where 
he met the man who, for many years, had 
been pastor of the Ampere church. 

The two were mutually pleased. Doctor 
Hemingway was an old man, somewhat cor- 
es 


66 


The Worst Boy 


pulent, and dressed in sober black, the coat 
being of the “ swallow-tail ” variety. He 
wore a ruffled shirt, standing collar, and 
white necktie, all his clothing being scru- 
pulously clean. He slipped his golden- 
rimmed spectacles back on the abundant 
white hair over his crown, and made two 
steps toward his caller, as he presented him- 
self at the open door of his study. 

Dick noticed that his face and eyes were 
as clear as those of an infant. The hand- 
some face was clean shaven and the double 
chin nestled comfortably over the soft neck- 
tie. The hand which Dick grasped was as 
smooth as satin. 

“ I am glad to meet you, Mr. Chandler,” 
said the clergyman, waving the young man 
to a chair; “ indeed, I meant to drive down 
to Squire Redwood’s to-morrow to pay my 
respects.” 

“That is kind, but I hardly expected it; 
I am fond of walking and should not have 
neglected my duty. If agreeable, I should 
like to join your church on the first day that 
will suit your convenience.” 

“ Which will be the coming Sunday. I 
may say,” added the doctor, “ that I have 
heard of you from Squire Redwood.” 


Starting In 67 

“ The squire is fond of talking/’ replied 
Dick, laughingly. 

“ Not only from him, but I have noted, in 
the official account of our church proceed- 
ings, that you have been licensed in the min- 
istry. That is a pleasure to me in many 
respects, one of which is a selfish one. I 
am aging and feel the growing infirmities of 
body; I shall count upon you to occupy my 
pulpit quite often.” 

“ I shall be glad to give you what help I 
can.” 

“ I am sure you have received more than 
one call? ” 

“ I have had several.” 

“ May I ask why you did not accept any 
of them? ” 

“ I am waiting for my Father to tell me 
which is my proper field. Meanwhile I 
have engaged to teach the Ampere public 
school for one year. By that time, I expect 
to be located.” 

“ The experience cannot fail to be of 
great help. Moreover, I am sure that during 
the year you will be of much assistance to 
Ampere church and school.” 

“ I cannot say as to that, but I feel that 
life is a vineyard and contains no room for 


68 


The Worst Boy 


idlers; every man has work awaiting him, no 
matter where he turns. Squire Redwood told 
me that your daughter is conducting a Sun- 
day-school; nothing can be more needed than 
that, and I wish to offer her my services.” 

“ How that will please Dorothy! She 
never stops in her good works. Ah, if I had 
her youth, what a service I could do my 
Master! ” 

The old gentleman sighed and looked out 
of the window which opened on his broad 
lawn. 

“ Old age and its infirmities come to all, 
if they are not cut down before. The most 
active must, in the end, fold his hands and 
lay down his work; you have toiled through 
many years and borne the burden upon your 
shoulders.” 

“ But weakly, my dear young man, 
weakly.” 

Turning his head toward the open door, 
the doctor raised his voice as he pronounced 
the name of his daughter. Her reply came 
from somewhere above stairs; her tripping 
step was heard and the next minute she 
entered the library. Dick had risen and took 
the little warm hand that was offered by her 
as the two were introduced. 


Starting In 


69 

“ I expected you,” she said, in her bright 
way; “if you hadn’t come to-day, papa and 
I were going after you to-morrow.” 

“ And what have I done,” he asked in 
mock protest, “ that Doctor Hemingway and 
his daughter should 1 go after’ me?” 

“Not because of what you have done, 
but because of what you must do; the Am- 
pere Sunday-school needs you.” 

“And shall get me; I think Squire Red- 
wood said as much to you.” 

“He did, bless his heart; did you ever 
know a kinder and more lovable couple 
than he and his wife are?” 

“ Never.” . 

“ The Sunday-school will meet in your 
schoolhouse at two o’clock; will you be good 
enough to give notice to your pupils?” 

He assured her it should not be forgotten 
and her face glowed. 

“Isn’t that splendid, papa! And how 
Mr. Chandler will help at the prayer-meet- 
ings! You are in need of rest, for you are 
a little older than I, and,” she added, lower- 
ing her voice, though she knew the caller 
would hear every word, “ you should make 
him preach for you as often as you can, 
though you needn’t tell him I said so.” 


7o 


The Worst Boy 


“ Be assured, my daughter, that your ad- 
vice shall be followed.” 

On the following Sunday, Dick Chandler 
sat in Squire Redwood’s pew, conscious of 
the curiosity he roused among the congre- 
gation. The first week of the school — short- 
ened at the beginning — had passed satis- 
factorily to himself. He knew from signs 
which could not be mistaken that he had won 
the affection of his pupils, and when that is 
the case, the good-will of the parents in- 
evitably follows. He had awakened an 
interest in the children’s studies; there had 
been no trouble regarding discipline, and on 
Friday, the last day of school, he had seven 
new attendants, with the knowledge that 
there would be more the following week. 

The teacher was interested in the sermon 
of Doctor Hemingway. It was learned, en- 
lightening, and instructive, but the young 
man could not shut his eyes to some of its 
defects. It was, in fact, too profound for a 
rural audience. As the expression goes, it 
was above their heads. It would have been 
an ideal discourse for a city congregation, 
or for one composed mainly of students and 
college professors. Moreover, every word 
was written, and the necessity of preserving 


Starting In 


7i 


the exact focal distance for his glasses robbed 
it of the gestures and vigor that would have 
added much to its effectiveness. 

Glancing around the large audience room, 
Dick noticed that it was not half filled. 

When Deacon Whitsett solemnly leaned 
over, as he passed the contribution box into 
the pew of the squire, the latter glanced at 
Dick, with a flitting shadowy smile. Dick 
managed to preserve his sobriety, aided 
thereto by the grave countenance of Aunt 
Samantha, as he had come to call her; but, 
none the less, the same thought was in the 
minds of the three. The deacon did just 
as the squire had described: when about to 
lay down the basket in front of the pulpit, 
he thrust his forefinger and thumb into his 
waistcoat pocket and dropped a coin into the 
receptacle with as much jingling as if it were 
a double eagle. 

At the close of the sermon Doctor Hem- 
ingway, removing his spectacles, said: 

“ It gives me much pleasure to make sev- 
eral announcements. We have been favored 
by Providence in the choice of a new teacher 
for our public school. Mr. Richard Chand- 
ler, who has taken charge, is a regularly 
licensed clergyman, who has declined several 


The Worst Boy 


72 

highly complimentary appointments, in or- 
der to wait until certain of making no error 
in the selection of his field of labor. In 
the meanwhile, he will have charge of our 
school, as I have already stated. 

“ Brother Chandler does not intend to be 
an idler in his Master’s vineyard. He has 
presented his certificate of membership in 
his home church. I shall read it to you and 
then extend to him the right hand of fellow- 
ship.” 

Adjusting his glasses, the doctor read the 
document, and Dick went forward and re- 
ceived a warm grasp of the pastor’s hand. 
Without returning to his pulpit, the clergy- 
man said: 

“ Brother Chandler will occupy this pul- 
pit next Sabbath. I think,” he added with a 
smile, “ he has pretty good stuff in him, but 
I am not certain. So I hope every one of 
you, as well as our friends who are not with 
us to-day, will be present, in order to reach 
a decision on that point for yourselves. 

“ This afternoon at two o’clock the Sun- 
day-school will meet in the schoolhouse. 
Brother Chandler will act as superintendent, 
assisted by my daughter and such other 
brothers and sisters as he may choose to call 


Starting In 


73 


upon. Every parent who has the good of 
his children at heart will see that they are 
present this afternoon promptly at the time 
named. Receive the benediction.” 

A surprise awaited Squire Redwood and 
Dick when they walked to the schoolhouse 
after dinner. As they passed down the long 
slope they saw fully fifty boys and girls, 
including several adults, assembled, although 
it was not yet two o’clock. 

“ We shall have a full house,” remarked 
the squire. 

“ I suppose the novelty of the thing at- 
tracts them,” was the modest reply of the 
teacher, whose heart was thrilled by the 
sight. 

A still greater surprise met the two when 
they reached the school building. Every 
seat and most of the standing-room was filled. 
Those outside were there because they could 
find no room inside. 

“ What shall we do?” asked Dick in 
momentary dismay. 

“ If the day warn’t quite so nipping we 
could hold the school in the open air; I’m 
afeard we can’t do much teaching this after- 
noon; we’ll have to git more roomy quar- 
ters after this.” 


74 


The Worst Boy 


The two managed to squeeze through the 
crowding throng, while a number were peep- 
ing into the windows. Dorothy Hemingway 
and several married ladies smilingly greeted 
the new superintendent. When he was able 
to reach his desk he spoke in a voice loud 
enough for all to hear. He expressed his 
gratitude for their coming, saying he had no 
thought of meeting so many. Then, after 
promising that accommodations would be 
secured the next Sunday for all who chose to 
come, and hoping to see every one before 
him and their friends also, he talked in a 
pleasant but serious strain, and dismissed 
them for the afternoon. 


CHAPTER VII 


TALENTS 

After Doctor Hemingway had made the 
opening prayer on the following Sunday, and 
had given out the notices, Dick Chandler 
stepped forward in the pulpit. His pulse 
beat faster than usual and he wondered if 
he should fail. But none of the men and 
women who looked expectantly up at him 
from their pews suspected the truth. 

The young man had given much thought 
to his task. He had debated over the best 
line to follow. His conclusion was wise. 
The congregation was fully double that of 
the previous Sunday. Among them he noted 
the miserly Deacon Whitsett and Mr. Jorson, 
landlord of the “Traveler’s Rest.” For 
neither could he feel an atom of respect. 
He yearned to denounce both, or rather to 
frame his discourse in such burning words 
that they would cower before him. Nothing 
would have been easier than for him to rouse 
a tempest that would shake the Ampere 

75 


The Worst Boy 


76 

church to its foundations. It is quite likely 
that many a clergyman standing in his place 
would have done this, but Dick held himself 
firmly in check. The hour had not yet 
struck for such radical action. He must first 
gain the confidence of the people; it was his 
duty to speak privately to those who deserved 
condemnation. Public denunciation re- 
mained for the last resort. 

The past week in school had borne good 
fruit. The attendance had grown until not 
a vacant seat was left. New accommodations 
would have to be provided. He had made 
the acquaintance of a number of parents, 
all of whom said appreciative words to him. 

Several facts helped Dick that Sunday. 
In the first place, nature had given him 
grace, force, and quickness of thought. His 
voice was musical, and he spoke without 
notes. He had delivered the same sermon 
twice before, and there was no hesitation in 
his utterance. 

His text was taken from the Saviour’s 
parable of the men with talents, one of whom 
wrapped his in a napkin instead of adding 
to it. 

“ To every man, woman, and child God 
has intrusted a talent,” declared Dick in his 


Talents 


77 

most impressive manner; “ to some it may 
be ten, and to others only five talents. Still 
a few have but the single talent, but you will 
note that the Saviour mentioned none to 
whom no talent was given. No matter how 
poor you are, so far as the world’s goods are 
concerned, it is your privilege to speak the 
kind word, to encourage the weak, to smooth 
the brow of the sufferer, to cheer and help 
those who fall by the wayside, and to do one 
or more of the thousand of little things which 
often accomplish greater good than wealth 
alone.” 

This train of thought suggested the greater 
obligations of those who possessed material 
means. He pleaded so eloquently for gen- 
erosity to all worthy causes that he clearly 
produced an effect upon his listeners. While 
there was nothing personal in his words, 
more than one hearer took them to himself. 
Deacon Whitsett seemed to feel that the 
preacher was hitting many of his neighbors, 
though the appeal rolled off his armor like 
rain from a roof. 

Toward the close of the sermon, whose 
length Dick tactfully kept within moderate 
bounds, he leaned on the open Bible, looked 
down in the eyes of his listeners, every one 


The Worst Boy 


78 

of which was fixed upon him, and in a low, 
impressive voice, asked: 

“ What are you and I doing with the 
talents God has given us? When you have 
finished your day’s work and, sitting in your 
comfortable home, look back over the day, 
are you always able to recall a kind word 
you have spoken or some good deed you have 
done? Do not many days come and go with- 
out bringing you that blessed privilege? If 
you summon up the hours, rather are they 
not blurred by the hasty utterance that has 
stirred up anger? Have you not said some- 
thing which, when it comes back to you in 
your lonely chamber, you would gladly un- 
say, if you could do so? Have you, in deal- 
ing with your fellow men, been truthful, hon- 
est, and generous? Have you checked the 
impatient retort that came to your lips? 
Have you, when reviled, refrained from re- 
viling again? Have you dared to ask, 
1 What would Jesus do in my situation? 
Have I acted and spoken as He would have 
acted and spoken?’ Ah, you and I know 
what answer truth would often compel us 
to make to these heart-searching questions. 

“ When at the close of the year we take 
account of stock, as the expression goes, does 


Talents 


79 

not our conscience reprove us for the pittance 
we have returned to Him who gave us all 
that we possess? As we grow older, do we 
grow more charitable, more generous, more 
Christlike? Are we sleeping or waking? 
Are we going to seed and dying, instead of 
springing up into vigorous life? ” 

Again the speaker paused, and looked 
down into the upturned countenances. His 
voice was lower than before, but in the hush 
it reached the farthest corner of the room. 

“ Last Wednesday evening was clear and 
starlit; it was the ideal night for a stroll in 
the crisp October air; we have one hundred 
and fifty-four communicants in this church; 
and, not counting the members of Mr. Red- 
wood’s family, at whose house the prayer- 
meeting was held, there were just six present. 
Think of it! ” 

In order that all might think, the preacher 
was again silent for a full minute. Then he 
added : 

“ One of those six walked a greater dis- 
tance than three-fourths of you would have 
to walk in coming to Brother Redwood’s 
home, where you know you are more than 
welcome.” 

Dick did not glance at Dorothy Heming- 


8o 


The Worst Boy 


way when he said this. Had he done so, 
he would have seen the flush that stole over 
her cheek. Every man and woman in the 
church knew to whom he referred. He 
rather regretted what he had said, and made 
haste to shift the line of his remarks. 

“ The trustees have consented that next 
Wednesday’s prayer-meeting shall be held in 
the basement of this church. If every one 
of you does his and her duty, it will be filled; 
if the room proves too small, they will let 
us use the main body of the church. I am 
glad to say the schoolhouse could not ac- 
commodate our boys and girls last Sunday. 
This afternoon, we shall meet in the base- 
ment. Is there any reason why you should 
allow any boy or girl of the right age to 
stay at home to-day? Is there any reason 
why you should stay at home? I may add 
that the school is greatly in need of a library. 
Instead of taking a collection in the church 
for the purchase of books, let’s put our 
hands in our own pockets and buy them our- 
selves. 

“ The hymnals, the Bibles, and the Sun- 
day-school lesson leaves will not supply one- 
half of those whom we shall meet this after- 
noon. You have not been called upon to 


Talents 


8i 


spend a penny in that direction, for all were 
the gift of your pastor, who has labored long 
and faithfully among you. He has well 
earned a rest; it is our duty to take the 
burden upon ourselves; for the talents which 
God has given us He will hold us to strict 
account. Shall we hand them back to Him 
on that awful day when all records are made 
up, and say: ‘ Here, Lord, I return my talents 
wrapped in a napkin’?” 

Several causes inspired Dick in his appeal. 
The first and most gratifying was the ardent 
approval of Doctor Hemingway. Seated on 
the sofa behind the speaker, where most of 
the congregation were able to see only the 
crown of white hair, he often nodded, and 
spoke so loudly that nearly every one heard 
him. “Yes, yes!” he would say, followed 
now and then by “ Amen! ” or “ True! God 
help us to see our duty!” 

As the old man rose to his feet, he warmly 
shook hands with Dick and turned to his 
people: 

“ I wish I could add emphasis to what 
has been said, but I cannot; I approve from 
the depths of my soul every word excepting,” 
added the doctor, “ the reference to myself ; 
let us not forget the appeal of my dear young 


82 


The Worst Boy 


brother; let us not only heed what he has 
said, but act upon it.” 

“ I tell you,” chuckled Squire Redwood, 
when the three were seated round the dinner- 
table, “ that sermon was one of the biggest 
successes of the year; you don’t know all it 
did, Richard.” 

“ I am sure you overestimate it,” pro- 
tested the young preacher. 

“ I observed one thing you didn’t. After 
you was done, Deacon Whitsett was among 
them that gathered in front of the pulpit. 
I kept my eye on him and seen him slyly 
slip another coin in the contribution box, 
which you know was passed before the ser- 
mon.” 

“ Did you see how much he put in? ” asked 
the wife, with a smile. 

“ Yes; it was a half-dime: there’s hope for 
the deacon.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


GETTING TO WORK 

While Dick was hopeful over the results 
of his labor thus far, he avoided undue self- 
confidence. He could never forget the 
warning of Evangelist Moody to the effect 
that all seasons of revival are in danger of 
being followed by periods of reaction. 
When the waves rise high there are hollows 
between, and we must strive not to sink into 
them. 

“ There is a novelty in my methods which 
stirs their curiosity,” said Dick to himself; 
“ if I am not careful, they will fall away 
when that wears off; I must use only legiti- 
mate means.” 

That Sunday afternoon he found nearly 
a hundred children and adults greeting him 
at the old church. Decrepit Jimmy Cathers, 
the sexton, would not open the door until the 
arrival of the superintendent, who was ten 
minutes early. What was specially gratify- 
ing was the presence of eight or ten men in 
83 


The Worst Boy 


84 

middle life, most of whom came with their 
wives, while there were fully a score of boys 
and girls of too tender years to know much 
more than their alphabet. 

“ We must form them into a kindergarten 
class,” said Dick, with some anxiety, to Miss 
Hemingway. “ Where shall we find the 
teacher. I suppose you wish to keep your 
Bible class?” 

“ I have just the one for you.” 

“ Who is she?” 

“ She is here, ready to take hold, and is 
the last person you would select. I will in- 
troduce you to her.” 

This brief chat took place after the people 
had entered the basement and found seats. 
Dorothy with a nod of her head called a 
middle-aged woman across the room to her. 
She was thin and homely of feature. Her 
face wore a stern expression. As she came 
up without the shadow of a smile, Dorothy 
introduced her as Mrs. Connell, a child- 
less widow, who had taught a kindergarten 
school in an adjoining city some years before. 
She solemnly shook hands with Dick and 
remarked, in a sepulchral voice, that she was 
ready to give what help she could; after 
which she awaited orders. 


Getting to Work 85 

“ I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Con- 
nell,” said Dick, who, with all his confidence 
in the judgment of his young friend, could 
not help fearing she had made a mistake in 
this instance. 

“There isn’t any kindness about it; I am 
doing it for the Lord,” was the response, in 
tones that sounded as if they came from the 
tombs. Dick was taken aback, but managed 
to reply: 

“ There can be no nobler motive, Mrs. 
Connell. You will wish to take the little 
ones by themselves, I presume? ” 

“ I shall take them in a room apart from 
all disturbing noises.” 

“ But where can we obtain such a room? ” 

“ Upstairs, in the main body of the 
church.” 

“ We haven’t the permission of the trus- 
tees.” 

“That doesn’t make any difference; I 
shall take them there.” 

And, bringing the little ones together, Mrs. 
Connell guided them upstairs, where they 
were distributed among the central pews. 
This remarkable woman more than justified 
what Miss Hemingway had said of her. 
Behind a mask of grimness and seeming 


86 


The Worst Boy 


sourness of disposition, she hid one of the 
kindest of hearts, and she had that ability 
which is nothing less than genius, that en- 
abled her to mold the children at will. 
Her discipline was perfect; she held the 
little ones enchained, and they sighed with 
regret when the bell of the superintendent 
summoned them downstairs for dismissal. 
Dick was delighted beyond measure, as week 
after week passed, with Mrs. Connell always 
at her post, with her pupils growing in num- 
bers, and every evidence that, young as they 
were, they understood, in their childish way, 
the great truths she unfolded to them. 

But this was only one of the surprises of 
that memorable Sunday. Among the first 
objects upon which his eyes rested was a 
handsome melodeon, at which Miss Hem- 
ingway seated herself. 

“Where did that come from?” he asked 
her. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if Uncle Silas had 
something to do with it,” she answered; “ if 
you press him I don’t think he will deny the 
charge.” 

“Just like him; one of the best men that 
ever lived.” 

“ Don’t forget Aunt Samantha.” 


Getting to Work 87 

“ I shouldn’t call her a man, but as a 
woman she is his equal.” 

“ Mr. Chandler, let me introduce you to 
Mr. Asaph Jenkins, who has consented to 
be our leader in singing, and also to teach a 
class, if you need him.” 

The gentleman thus referred to stood di- 
rectly behind Dick, who had to wheel about 
to grasp the palm extended to him. He was 
fully six feet tall, stoop-shouldered, gaunt, 
with sandy hair and chin whiskers, and a 
wide mouth that was filled with fine, sound 
teeth. He had a curious habit of smiling 
only on one side of his face, when he was 
pleased. He was plainly dressed, with un- 
blacked boots, and a swallow-tail coat, from 
whose side-pocket a brilliant bandana hand- 
kerchief protruded. 

Dick fairly winced under the tremendous 
pressure of the iron hand. The side of Mr. 
Jenkins’ mouth glided farther round, reveal- 
ing his sound molars, while his small gray 
eyes were almost hidden by the numerous 
wrinkles about and beneath. 

“ Mr. Chandler,” said he, “ I went to 
church this morning for the first time in two 
years; I liked your talk; what you said 
about a man hiding his talent hit me hard; 


88 


The Worst Boy 


while I haven’t many talents, I can sing a 
little, and under stress might do something 
in the way of teaching. That’s what brings 
me here.” 

“ I thank you very much; I am sure you 
will be of great help.” 

“ I can’t say as to that, but, if you are 
satisfied, and Providence permits, I shall 
be present every Sunday.” 

“ And also at church and prayer-meet- 
ing? ” asked Dick persuasively. Asaph Jen- 
kins hesitated a moment, with the one-sided 
smile lingering, and then nodded his head, 
saying: 

“Yes; it’s a bargain.” 

“You don’t know how much pleasure you 
give me.” 

“ I know I’m giving myself a good deal 
more. Mr. Chandler, I may as well tell 
you I am an agnostic. I have read a good 
many theological books, have studied higher 
criticism, and have had no end of arguments 
with Doctor Hemingway and his daughter, 
who can hold her own in any debate. I 
remain unconvinced, and when you have the 
time to spare, I shall like to tackle you. All 
the same, I can’t get away from a feeling 
that it is my duty to do something for 


Getting to Work 89 

others: that explains why I’m here this 
afternoon.” 

Dick was drawn to this singular person, 
who, despite his unprepossessing appearance, 
talked like a man of education and intelli- 
gence. There was no opportunity to dis- 
cuss the all-important subject at this time, 
for the school claimed attention. Jenkins 
began turning over the leaves of his hymnal, 
as he took his place beside Miss Hemingway, 
at the melodeon. The selection of a hymn 
was left to him, and he quickly fixed upon a 
familiar one. 

Dorothy Hemingway played through the 
first part of the air, and then to Dick’s sur- 
prise she ceased, and glanced expectantly at 
Jenkins, who stood facing the school, open 
book in hand. 

And then he began. The teacher had 
listened to some fine singers; his own college 
had furnished a good many excellent ones, 
and he himself had a fine baritone voice. 
But never had he heard tones that arrested 
him as did those of Asaph Jenkins. Know- 
ing his remarkable gift, Dorothy had no wish 
to mar the splendid volume which filled the 
large room, and the school sat enthralled, 
staring at the ungainly form which stood 


90 


The Worst Boy 


before them and held all captive by his 
wonderful gift. 

When the first stanza was finished, Jen- 
kins stopped and, with his odd smile, said 
reprovingly: 

“ I didn’t hear any of you sing.” 

“No wonder, when they had the privilege 
of listening to you!” exclaimed Chandler. 

“ Now, let’s try the next stanza,” added the 
singer, as if he had not heard the compli- 
ment. “ But, if you don’t join me, I shall 
stop.” 

Thus urged, the others tried, and before 
the last line was reached there was hardly 
a silent voice in the room. I should say, 
however, that there were two. Dorothy 
Hemingway and Dick Chandler glanced at 
each other and sat mute. 

Two more hymns were sung, Dick offered 
a prayer, and then the organization of the 
various classes began. When this was under 
way, Jenkins said to Dick: 

“ I have one favor to ask of you, Mr. 
Chandler: I want you to make me up a class 
of eight or ten of the worst boys that are 
here to-day.” 

Dick looked his astonishment, Jenkins 
smiled. 


Getting to Work 91 

“ I mean it; I never saw or heard of a 
Sunday-school which didn’t have a certain 
percentage of boys that are as mischievous 
and as bad as they can be; they make life a 
burden to the superintendent and instructor; 
I have known a class of such scamps to 
drive teacher after teacher away, and to fill 
their friends with despair. I have some 
ideas of my own about handling such young- 
sters. Give me a chance to experiment; 
perhaps I shall fail, but I’ll do my best; 
angels could do no more.” 

Attracted by the strange personality of the 
man, Dick set to work to gratify him. The 
superintendent’s restricted acquaintance out- 
side of his own school made it hard to fix 
upon the most unruly lads, but Jenkins had 
spent years in the community and knew all 
the boys. 

The first one chosen by him was a massive, 
hulking fellow named Buck Smith. He 
sat well back, grinning and flipping twists 
of paper at the heads of those within range, 
careless whether any one observed him or 
not. When Dick heard his name he re- 
membered that he was the youth who was 
known throughout the neighborhood as the 
bully of the school, and who had boasted that 


92 


The Worst Boy 


he would throw the teacher out of doors on 
the very first day of his attendance. He had 
not yet begun to attend. 

The next lad was Ike Flynn. He was a 
year younger than Buck, whom he took for 
his model, and was sly, cunning, and tricky. 
When he was asked to take his seat beside 
Buck in the rear of the room, he eagerly 
did so, and waited for the fun to begin, for 
he was sure there was to be fun. 

Finally, eight lads were brought together. 
Their ages ranged from thirteen to eighteen 
years, the last being that of Buck Smith. 
Looking into their faces, all alert for mis- 
chief, they might well cause a timid teacher 
to shrink. 

“ I know them all,” said Jenkins in a low 
voice to Dick; “ any one of them is enough 
to break up a camp-meeting. Now go off 
and leave them to me.” 

Dick, full of doubt, moved to another part 
of the room, where several matters required 
attention. He glanced to the rear now and 
then, to see how Jenkins was making out with 
his class. There were several minutes of 
disorder, and then the eight boys settled 
down, and, fixing their eyes on their teacher, 
listened to what he was saying. They sat 


Getting to Work 


93 


thus through the half-hour given to instruc- 
tion. Not a hand was raised in mischief, 
nor was there a catcall, a pinch, or a laugh. 
The whole class hung on the words of the 
marvelous singer and original instructor. 


CHAPTER IX 


A SUBSCRIPTION PAPER 

As the teachers and pupils filed out of the 
basement of the church, Dorothy Heming- 
way closed the melodeon and bade Dick 
Chandler and Asaph Jenkins good-by, with 
the remark to the latter: 

“ I shall see you at prayer-meeting? ” 

“You may depend upon it, provided you 
are there.” 

“ No fear that she will be absent,” Dick 
put in, as the girl passed out of the door. 

Sexton Cathers showed a desire to lock 
the room, and the two sauntered outside. 
Dick accepted the invitation of Jenkins to 
spend an hour or more with him at his home. 
As they strolled along, the teacher learned 
several interesting facts regarding his new 
friend. He was a graduate of Yale, but 
had taken up no profession. He had trav- 
eled abroad, and being left a competence by 
his father, had bought a small farm in the 
Ampere district, and rented it to a practical 

94 


A Subscription Paper 95 

husbandman, with whom he made his home. 
Jenkins was a bachelor, with a large library, 
and spent his time in working on the place 
when so disposed — which he confessed was 
not often — and in reading, investigation, and 
study, rarely going out during the evenings. 
He had never attended a prayer-meeting 
since leaving college, and, as he said, had 
not stepped inside a church for more than a 
year. Curiosity to hear what the young 
preacher had to say had led him there to-day. 

“ I am a seeker after truth,” he explained. 
“ Certainly no more important subjects can 
engage the thoughts of men than immortality, 
religion, God, and one’s duty to his fellow- 
creatures. I have read much. I believe — 
at least partially — in an existence beyond the 
grave, but in the absence of scientific proof, 
I am not free from doubts. There are so 
many conflicting creeds and beliefs, I see 
so much hypocrisy and inconsistency in the 
lives of those professing to be followers of 
the meek and lowly One, that I am often 
wholly at sea. I do not wish to enter into 
an argument with you this afternoon, beyond 
saying that I stand baffled, awed, and in 
despair amid the mysteries that wall me in 
on every side.” 


96 


The Worst Boy 


“Why let them vex you?” asked Dick. 
“ There is nothing in this world which we 
can understand through and through, from 
the beginning to the end. The nature of 
God, life, death, eternity, are beyond, 
and will always remain beyond the ken of 
finite minds. No one can explain the mys- 
tery of a blade of grass; Edison cannot tell 
you the nature of electricity; the presence 
of sin and suffering in the affairs of life, 
light, color, sound, sight, mind, matter, are 
as incomprehensible to you as to a child. 
Why not, therefore, cease the impossible 
task of understanding everything and hold 
fast to these facts? 

“ Our existence proves that we must have 
a Creator, whose nature cannot be under- 
stood by us so long as we are in this life. 
Every sane and intelligent human being has 
within him two warring natures: the sinful 
and the regenerate, the latter of which is 
the same mind and spirit as was in Christ. 
The most perfect form of government ever 
conceived for the happiness of man is that 
given to the world by Jesus of Nazareth, and 
its simplicity brings it within the compre- 
hension of the wayfaring man. I repeat, 
why not abandon, therefore, all this blind, 


A Subscription Paper 97 

baffling, groping effort to solve the un- 
solvable mystery, and come down to the 
bed-rock of childlike obedience to the teach- 
ings of the lowly Jesus? If we are wrong, 
we cannot possibly lose anything by our 
belief, and will surely add to our own happi- 
ness and to the happiness of others. Sup- 
pose those who differ with us are right; they 
will gain nothing, while, if they are wrong, 
they will lose everything. Gladstone said 
that during his long career he came in con- 
tact with sixty of the greatest intellects in 
the world. Of these, all but six were be- 
lievers in immortality and the truths of 
Christianity. If we err in our faith, we 
surely are in good company.” 

“ You have started me on a new train of 
thought,” replied Jenkins, “ and I promise 
you to follow it with an open mind.” 

“ That is all I ask; do so in the right 
spirit, and God will lead you to the light 
which you are so anxious to find.” 

“ Leaving all this for the present, let us 
come down to practical things. You an- 
nounced this morning that you were about 
to solicit a subscription, from the members, 
for the purpose of buying a library for the 
Sunday-school. Let us start it now.” 


9 8 


The Worst Boy 


“ There can be no better time. Suppose 
you draw up the paper.” 

Jenkins took a blank sheet from his desk, 
and hastily wrote a pledge, whereby the 
signers agreed to pay the sums opposite their 
respective names for the purpose set forth. 
He subscribed ten dollars and Dick promptly 
did the same. 

“ I will take this paper through the neigh- 
borhood,” offered Jenkins, “ and make a 
shaking among the dry bones. How much 
ought we to raise? ” 

“ Seventy-five or a hundred dollars will 
buy us a good library.” 

“ I’ll guarantee a hundred and shall try 
to obtain double that; I know everybody, 
and the man who gets away from me will 
feel mighty uncomfortable. Doctor Hem- 
ingway will give as much as each of us.” 

“ So will Squire Redwood.” 

“ That makes nearly one-half of the larger 
amount you named.” 

“ Miss Hemingway will equal her father’s 
contribution. Of course, it comes from the 
old gentleman, but it will please him and 
form a part of our grist.” 

“ Do you intend to tackle Deacon Whit- 
sett? ” 


A Subscription Paper 99 

“ The chance of doing so is one of my 
chief reasons for wishing to take charge of 
this contract. And,” added Jenkins, with a 
chuckle, “ there are others.” 

“When will you begin?” 

“To-morrow morning; I sha’n’t overlook 
a person who ought to give. I shall even 
call upon Landlord Jorson, chiefly for the 
purpose of airing my views upon certain 
matters that will interest him. Isn’t he a 
fine specimen of a member of a Christian 
church?” asked Jenkins, with a sniff of 
contempt. 

“ I sympathize with your feelings and 
mean that he shall hear from me before 
many moons wax and wane. By the way, 
Mr. Jenkins, you have the finest tenor voice 
I ever heard.” 

“ That’s extravagant, Mr. Chandler, but 
I won’t deny that it has received a few 
compliments, and I reckon it is a pretty fair 
voice.” 

“ It must have attracted wide attention.” 

“ Oh, yes; I have received several flattering 
offers,” Jenkins informed him, “ but I do not 
care for public life. I shall never sing out- 
side of Ampere.” 

“No one can measure the good you will 


ioo The Worst Boy 

do here. It may be your calling to become 
a Sankey.” 

“ And yours to become a Moody.” 

“ I do not feel competent for that, since 
he has gifts that can never be mine. 
It is my opinion, Mr. Jenkins, that God 
has given you ten talents in that voice of 
yours.” 

The young man threw back his head and 
laughed heartily. Shortly after this Dick 
left for home. 

As soon as Squire Redwood was told of 
the subscription for the library he said: 

“ Of course I shall give the same as you 
and Asaph, and more, too, should it be 
necessary. He’s the very man to go through 
the neighborhood with that paper; he has 
plenty of time and isn’t afraid to say what 
he thinks.” 

“ By the way, Squire, Miss Hemingway 
told me you bought that melodeon for the 
Sunday-school.” 

“Did she say that? Well, she’s mistook; 
I didn’t buy it.” 

“ Come to think, she said you had a hand 
in it.” 

“Ah, that’s different; she and me chipped 
in, though if I had knowed that Asaph in- 


A Subscription Paper ioi 

tended to sing, I shouldn’t have throwed 
away my money.” 

“ He has promised to help at each Sunday- 
school session and at our prayer-meetings.” 

“It seems almost too good to believe; 
I have asked him many times to do that, or, 
at least, to come to church and lead the choir, 
but he always smiled in that odd way of his, 
and shook his head. He didn’t question 
Doctor Hemingway’s piety, but said his 
preaching did him no good, and he didn’t 
know of any preacher that he had any use 
for. That wonderful voice will be a power- 
ful help to us.” 

Asaph Jenkins started out directly after 
his morning meal upon the task of securing 
subscriptions for the new Sunday-school 
library. He first went to Doctor Heming- 
way, who cheerfully put down his name and 
handed over the money for which he had 
signed. When he had done so, he called 
Dorothy into the library. 

“ See what I have been doing, daughter,” 
he said, as she greeted the caller. 

“ And set too good an example for me 
to lose,” she replied, as she took the pencil 
from Asaph and wrote her name below that 
of her parent. “ Papa, I’m a little short this 


102 The Worst Boy 

morning, and shall have to borrow from 
you.” 

“Just as I expected,” said the good old 
man, as he returned her caress; “I don’t 
suppose there is any help for it.” 

“ It has that look,” smiled Jenkins, as he 
pocketed the second bill. “ What a blessing 
it is to have such a daughter as yours.” 

“ It truly is, and no father could be more 
thankful.” 

The canvasser’s next call was at the home 
of Squire Redwood. Dick had gone to his 
school, so the two men were alone. 

“ I’ve heerd of this,” remarked the squire, 
as he adjusted his spectacles and glanced 
over the paper; “I shouldn’t have forgiven 
you if you had overlooked me.” 

“ Nobody would be so short-sighted as 
that, when he needed help in a good cause. 
I tell you, that young Chandler is stirring 
up things in this neighborhood.” 

“ Richard is just the man to do it; it was 
a good day for Ampere when we engaged 
him for a teacher. He tells me you have 
promised to aid in our Sunday-school and 
at our prayer-meetings.” 

“Yes; I have enlisted; I like him; he 
is doing a much-needed work.” 


A Subscription Paper 103 

Squire Redwood laid his hand on the 
shoulder of his caller as he rose to go. 

“ Asaph, one of these days you and me 
have got to lay down and die. If we have 
time to think over the past we shall re- 
member a good many things that will make 
us feel mighty sorry. There will be some, 
too, that we shall be glad we done and 
regret because we didn’t do more of ’em. 
Among the matters that you’ll never feel 
bad over will be your using that voice of 
yours to help sinners into the good way.” 

“ I won’t say you are not right, Squire,” 
replied Jenkins in a slightly tremulous voice; 
“ I wish everything was as clear to me as it 
is to you.” 

“ It will be one of these days; I know my 
prayers for you will be answered.” 

“ Shall I tell you what has come nearer 
to making me get down on my knees than 
anything else? ” 

“ I should like to know.” 

“ The example set by you and your wife, 
by Miss Hemingway, and now by the new 
teacher: they make a more powerful sermon 
than Spurgeon or Beecher or Moody ever 
preached. Well, thanks for your subscrip- 
tion, and good-morning.” 


104 The Worst Boy 

Having secured five names with ten dol- 
lars against each, Jenkins strode to “The 
Corners,” and entered the big grocery store 
of Deacon Whitsett. It was the time of day 
when there was a lull in trade. Tom, the 
round-cheeked boy, who helped in selling 
goods, was weighing sugar in two-pound 
packages, so as to have them convenient for 
customers. His employer was closely watch- 
ing him. 

“Take a pinch out; you’ve got a leetle 
too much sugar.” 

“The scales just balance,” replied Tom, 
as he obeyed orders ; “ and the wrapping 
paper weighs something.” 

“And costs something too: that’s about 
right. You didn’t forget to dampen the sugar 
before weighing it — Ah, good-morning, 
Asaph!” added the merchant, hearing the 
footstep and wheeling around, “ you don’t 
come into the store often.” 

“No; I leave the purchasing to Mr. Bur- 
leigh and his wife; I don’t have to bother 
with such things, thank fortune.” 

“ Anything I kin do for you this morn- 
ing? ” 

“ Yes; put your name to that paper,” curtly 
replied Jenkins, handing the folded sheet 


A Subscription Paper 105 

to the merchant, who, leaning against the 
counter, peered through his glasses, his lank 
jaws working energetically, as if he were 
chewing something, though his teeth were 
few and defective. Jenkins stood two or 
three paces away with his eyes on the thin, 
hard countenance. Tom grinned, while he 
continued weighing and wrapping the sugar. 
He suspected what was in the wind, and 
when Jenkins glanced his way he winked. 

“ What’s this? ” suddenly asked the deacon, 
dipping his head forward, like a bull about 
to attack, while he glared over the top of 
his spectacles. 

“ I thought I wrote that plain enough for 
any one to read. You heard Mr. Chandler 
give notice yesterday that a new library is 
to be bought for the Sunday-school by means 
of subscriptions.” 

“ I don’t approve of such things,” said 
the deacon sourly. 

“ Don’t approve of having good reading 
for our children?” demanded the solicitor, 
recoiling a step as if in astonishment. 

“ I don’t mean that; but this way of raising 
money is wrong.” 


CHAPTER X 

“THE TRAVELER’S REST” 

On his way to the store of Deacon Whit- 
sett, Asaph Jenkins had braced himself for 
the “ run in,” as he expressed it, which he 
was sure he would have. He was so im- 
patient with meanness in any form, and felt 
so much contempt for the miser, that it was 
hard to restrain himself, but he succeeded 
quite well in doing so. 

“ What is wrong about this method of 
raising money for a good cause?” he asked. 

“ I don’t know as it’s wrong for them as 
believes in it, but my principle is to put 
into the contribution basket each Sunday 
what is right fur me to give to the church. 
In my jedgment, that is the only proper 
way of doing such things. Each Saturday 
I prayerfully consider as to how the Lord 
has prospered me and contribute according.” 

“You must have a mighty poor way of 
calculating your profits. You have mort- 
gages on half a dozen of the best farms in 


“ The Traveler’s Rest ” 107 

the county, and all that you drop into the 
basket each morning is an old-fashioned 
copper.” 

“ What do you know about it? You don’t 
’tend church,” demanded the deacon indig- 
nantly. 

“ I have been told by those who watch you; 
but we are getting off the subject. The 
whole amount of your gifts to church causes 
isn’t one dollar a year, and you are the rich- 
est man in the county.” 

The deacon chewed hard and his cadaver- 
ous face flushed. 

“You’ve no right to talk to me like that: 
it ain’t Christian.” 

“ Well, I am not a professing Christian 
like you, so I shall say what I think. I 
want your pledge on that paper for ten 
dollars. Of the five names there, you are the 
best able to give that amount. You will 
never feel it, and it will do you more good 
than sanding your sugar, watering your 
vinegar, and adulterating your other goods.” 

Before the deacon, whose temper was fast 
rising, could reply, Jenkins pursued another 
method. 

“Your name will lead others to imitate 
you. Come now, suppose you put it down 


108 The Worst Boy 

and I pay nine dollars for you, giving you 
credit for the ten; what do you say?” 

The deacon was staggered for the moment 
by the novel proposition. Still chewing his 
invisible cud, he reached out his hand, took 
back the paper which he had returned and 
studied it again. Jenkins remained silent 
while the other hesitated. Suddenly yielding 
to a spasm, the deacon carried the sheet to his 
desk, laboriously wrote his name and 
marked “ ten dollars ” in figures opposite 
it, as the others had done. His hard face 
wrinkled into a grotesque smile. 

“Very well; stop in next week and I’ll 
hand you the dollar, if trade picks up.” 

Asaph Jenkins made sure of the signature 
and figures; then he refolded the sheet and 
thrust it into the pocket inside his coat. 
Jerking one of the high stools forward, he 
sat down upon it and looked straight into 
the face of the old man. 

“ Deacon,” he quietly asked, “ do you think 
it is right to lie? ” 

“Why, of course not; it ain’t justifiable 
in any sarcumstances ; it’s contrary to what 
the Good Book says.” 

“Yet you have consented to a direct lie; 
you have put your name on that paper, and 


“ The Traveler’s Rest 


109 


thereby pledged yourself to give the sum of 
ten dollars, expecting me to pay nine-tenths 
of it for you.” 

“ Oh, that’s different,” replied the deacon 
with another attempt to smile; “it was 
your idee — not mine.” 

“ But you are a party to it, and are per- 
fectly willing that I should commit a sin 
provided you get the benefit.” 

“ Wal, if you feel that way about it, I’ll 
cross off my name.” 

“No; you won’t; you have promised to 
give ten dollars for the new library, and I 
am going to make you do it.” 

The deacon’s jaw dropped, and he stared 
as if he could not grasp the situation. 

“ I mean it,” added Jenkins; “ if necessary, 
I shall take the matter into court and you 
won’t be able to wriggle out of it.” 

“ But — but,” stammered the old man, 
swallowing hard, “ you agreed to give nine 
dollars, if I’d put down my name for ten; 
it was a fair bargain.” 

“I didn’t agree to anything of the kind; 
I asked you if you would do such a thing, 
but didn’t say I would; upon considering 
the matter, I have decided not to be a party 
to such a wicked deception.” 


no 


The Worst Boy 


“ It’s a cheat; it’s dishonest; you can’t 
get out of it!” exclaimed the deacon, fully 
roused and trembling with indignation; “ it’s 
onspeakably mean and contemptuous of you, 
Asaph!” 

“ If you refer to your own action I agree 
with you.” 

Jenkins had risen to his feet. He shook 
his forefinger at the irate deacon and low- 
ered his voice, though the grinning Tom 
did not let a syllable escape him. 

“ You will pay that ten dollars and you 
will do it within twenty-four hours. If I 
don’t receive the cash now or your check 
within that time, I shall back a certain man 
well known to you, who is eager to open a 
new grocery store at 1 The Corners,’ and 
within a few weeks after he does so he 
will have most of your trade. I’m not bluff- 
ing; I have the matter under consideration. 
That’s all; good day.” 

“But hold on!” pleaded the scared dea- 
con, hurrying from behind the counter; “ you 
won’t do me such a dreadful injury, I’m 
sure; it will ruin me.” 

“Wait and see if I don’t; I have nothing 
more to say.” 

And he strode through the door and off the 


Ill 


“ The Traveler’s Rest ” 

porch, leaving the old man staring speechless 
after him. 

Beyond sight of the store, Asaph Jenkins 
slackened his pace and shook with laughter. 

“ I haven’t had more fun since I had the 
mumps. I wouldn’t have missed that inter- 
view with the deacon for ten times his sub- 
scription. I don’t know that I was perfectly 
frank with him, but I can’t feel bad over the 
matter. Neither did I promise not to back 
Mr. Green in opening a new grocery store 
at ‘ The Corners,’ even if the deacon paid 
his subscription, but I’ll wait till I get it.” 

Jenkins received Deacon Whitsett’s check 
the next day, accompanied by a scrawling 
bit of writing, reminding the younger man 
that he was to discourage any new enterprise 
which would conflict with the deacon’s in- 
terests. 

“ How it wrung his heart,” grimly mut- 
tered Jenkins. “ Somehow or other I feel 
more inclined to back Green than before. I 
think I shall do it.” 

Asaph Jenkins did not use his saddle 
horse in making his circuit of Ampere dis- 
trict. He cut across lots in many places, 
thereby saving time and effort; but he was 
fond of walking and the exercise did him 


I 12 


The Worst Boy 


good. He had skimmed the cream, and 
now went after the milk. By the middle 
of the afternoon he had run up his list to an 
even hundred dollars, with a number of other 
promising villagers to call upon. The sub- 
scriptions ranged from five dollars down to 
one-fifth of that sum. The solicitor was 
touched by the readiness with which the men 
and women subscribed. They gave accord- 
ing to their means and were glad to do it. 

“ We shall hardly reach one hundred and 
fifty dollars,” he reflected; “ I’ll make up the 
amount and say nothing to anybody.” 

Jenkins had reserved the “Traveler’s 
Rest ” as the last place to visit that after- 
noon. The sun was low in the sky when 
he pushed open the door of the bar-room 
and entered. Two farmers were in the act 
of drinking, and he stood in the background 
until they wiped the backs of their hands 
across their mouths, sat down in the rickety 
chairs, and lit their pipes. 

Lott M. Jorson was a short, thick-set man, 
with hard features, which he could relax 
when he thought there was reason to do so. 
He had a bushy head of hair, a smooth- 
shaven face, and was always well dressed. 
He set the bottle back on the shelf behind 


“The Traveler’s Rest” 113 

him, took the two tumblers that had been 
emptied, stooped down and rinsed them in 
a pail of water under the bar and placed 
them dripping and inverted on a lower shelf. 
Then he looked at his caller, who was 
standing motionless and watching him. 

“ Hello, Jenkins, what’ll you have?” 

“Your name to that paper.” 

As he spoke, Jenkins drew out the folded 
sheet, stepped closer to the bar, and handed 
it to the landlord. The latter was not old 
enough to require spectacles, and he unfolded 
the document, remarking as he did so: 

“ If it’s a petition to hang you, I won’t 
lose any time in writing my name at the 
head of the — others — eh?” 

Jenkins did not comment upon this cheap 
wit, but calmly waited. Carefully reading 
the list of names, the landlord suddenly 
puckered his lips and whistled. 

“ Deacon Whitsett, eh? That beats all 
creation, and ten dollars, too! Well, well, 
it’s the most wonderful thing I ever knowed: 
do you b’lieve he’ll pay up? ” 

“ He will pay,” said Jenkins, gently; “ how 
much do you wish to give?” 

“ You see things ain’t moving very well 
with me; crops haven’t been good the past 


The Worst Boy 


i 14- 

season and the folks are poor. Still, I be- 
lieve in encouraging everything that helps 
uplift the community. I was much pleased 
with that discourse of the new teacher, or 
preacher, yesterday; I’m sure it done us all 
good.” 

“ It certainly ought to. You remember 
what he said about raising the funds for a 
new library by subscription. I have spent 
most of the day at that work.” 

“ And have done well — no mistake. I 
s’pose you’ll buy books of the right kind,” 
added Jorson inquiringly, as he took a stub 
of a pencil from his waistcoat pocket and 
wrote his name, with the figure “ three ” 
opposite. 

“ I think Mr. Chandler and I can be 
trusted to do that,” commented Jenkins, 
accepting the three soiled one-dollar bills 
which the landlord fished out from his fat 
wallet and handed to him. “ I have a very 
interesting book in my library which I shall 
donate to the school.” 

“ What might it be? ” 

“ T. S. Arthur’s Ten Nights in a Bar 
Room; if you will promise to read it, I’ll 
send it to you.” 

The landlord’s face flushed. 


“The Traveler’s Rest” 115 

“ I’ve heerd of that book, but I don’t 
think it’s right to encourage such fanatics; 
they do a big lot more harm than good; bet- 
ter not excite the children by letting them 
read it.” 

“ Then you are in favor of allowing our 
boys to grow up ignorant of the danger they 
run from strong drink? You know that rum 
slays its tens of thousands every year and 
does more than all other causes to fill our 
state prisons.” 

“Yes, ain’t it too bad? If all the men 
who handle spirits was as conscientious as 
me there wouldn’t be anything of that kind.” 

“ Tell me how you work in your con- 
science on this business.” 

Landlord Jorson’s face flushed, and he was 
plainly irritated, which was what his caller 
intended he should be. 

“ Why, I put my conscience in everything, 
which is more’n some persons I could name 
does: I sell the best liquor, and never let 
children or minors have it; when I see a man 
has all that’s good for him, I don’t let him 
have any more. You know as well as me that 
folks will drink and you can’t stop ’em by 
all the prohibition and local option laws on 
the statoo books. Therefore,” added the 


1 1 6 


The Worst Boy 


landlord triumphantly, “ the true temperance 
plan is to drink in moderation, using the 
best kind of liquor, such as I use. How are 
you going to get away from that? ” 

“ I have heard such stuff before; you don’t 
pretend to deny that drunkenness is the most 

awful curse of civilization ” 

“ Of course not, and nobody is more op- 
posed to it than me.” 

“ The Bible, of which perhaps you have 
heard, denounces it in the most forceful 
language. There couldn’t be any drunken- 
ness if there was nothing to make people 
drunk. You have done and are doing more 
harm in the community than the worst thief 
and incendiary out of jail.” 

Jorson’s gray eyes flashed. 

“ I won’t allow any man to talk to me like 
that in my own place,” he cried. 

“You can’t help yourself; and I shall add 
a few more things. To the burning dis- 
grace of the Ampere church, it has per- 
mitted you for years to be one of fts members 
— you whose life is a violation of the plainest 
teachings of the Founder of Christianity. 
By-and-by, when I become a good deal bet- 
ter man than I am now, I shall join the 
church, and the first thing I shall do to prove 


“The Traveler’s Rest” 117 

my sincerity will be to bring charges against 
you. We shall then decide how much you 
are doing to 1 uplift the community.’ 

“ Ten years ago, Owen Palmer was among 
the brightest young men in the Ampere 
district. He married one of our finest young 
women, and a lovely little girl was born to 
them. Palmer is now a miserable drunkard; 
when I remonstrated with him some time 
since, he told me that the first glass of liquor 
he ever drank was in this place, and you 
served it to him. That’s what you call 1 up- 
lifting the community.’ 

“ Do you suppose I had any intention of 
keeping your money when I took it from 
you? Not for a moment; it is tainted; it is 
poison, and it burns my hand. Keep it!” 

Asaph Jenkins had rolled the bills into a 
small wad, which he flung into the face of 
the landlord, who stared aflame with anger 
but dumb. Then the caller strode out of 
the door and slammed it after him. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE SCHOOL BULLY 

As winter came on, the smaller pupils of 
the Ampere school withdrew, and their 
places were taken by older ones. Large 
boys, as a rule, are kept at home in the 
country during the summer months, in order 
to help on the farms, while the long walk 
and severe weather thin out the attendance 
of the girls and smaller lads. Thus the few 
extra seats and desks which had been put in, 
served for the new pupils. 

One wintry morning, when Dick stepped 
out of the front door of Squire Redwood’s 
house, a flake of snow softly touched his 
cheek. Before he could pass down the short 
walk to the front gate the air was full of 
eddying particles, and in less time than would 
seem credible roads and fields were hid- 
den under the white sheet. 

Dick was delighted. The life-giving 
ozone as it filled his lungs thrilled him with 
the bounding pleasure of high health. He 


The School Bully 119 

broke into a run which he kept up half the 
way to school. By that time his blood was 
tingling, his cheeks were ruddy and cold, 
and it required great self-restraint to check 
his longing to shout. He wore no overcoat, 
and threw back the breast of his heavy coat, 
that he might breathe freely. He took long 
strides, and swung his arms in the exuberance 
of physical joy. 

“ I should be glad if the schoolhouse were 
twenty miles away this morning,” he mut- 
tered. 

The heavy fall slackened as he walked, 
but when he came in sight of the building 
the earth was covered to the depth of several 
inches. The weather was so mild that the 
snow was wet and cloggy. 

Dick saw that all the school children were 
outside, shouting, laughing, washing one an- 
other’s faces, hurling the missiles to and fro, 
surging back and forth, and enjoying them- 
selves to the full. He paused several minutes 
to watch them, and was about to mingle in 
the sport, when whizz! a big snowball banged 
against the side of his head. He laughed 
and looked around that he might retaliate. 

As he did so, he observed for the first 
time a new pupil among the boys. He was 


120 


The Worst Boy 


the huskiest lad that had yet attended the 
school and loomed up like a young giant. 
At the first glance Dick recognized him as 
Buck Smith, the bully of the neighborhood, 
who had repeatedly given notice of his in- 
tention to “ bounce ” the new teacher. 

With not the least sign of resentment, 
Dick squatted and began moulding the snow 
with his hands. He shaped three balls, and 
pressed the snow as tightly as he could, mean- 
while keeping an eye on his antagonist. He 
saw Buck’s yellow teeth as he grinned, in 
anticipation of the fun about to open. At 
the same moment, the teacher identified Ike 
Flynn, standing to one side and somewhat 
nearer than Buck. There was a general ces- 
sation of play on the part of the other boys, 
that they might enjoy the snowball battle. 

Buck quickly showed that he was a fine 
thrower. He was pitcher of the famous 
Ampere ball team, and was noted for his 
skill in sending the sphere accurately over 
the plate, or to any of the players. But 
Dick’s home position on the champion col- 
lege team was at third base, and the brilliant 
style in which he used to line the ball over 
to first was one of the finest treats of the 
game. 


The School Bully 121 

If the teacher hadn’t flirted his head to one 
side he would have received the second mis- 
sile from Buck in the face. Before the youth 
could aim again, Dick threw, and Buck had 
to drop his head and instantly twist to one 
side. When Dick rose upright, he held two 
hard snowballs in his left hand, and while 
the third was speeding through the air, he 
snatched one of the extra ones and shot it 
with all his power, and with the accuracy 
of a rifle ball, at his enemy. 

The contestants stood some twenty-five 
yards apart, an excellent distance for throw- 
ing, and one which required wonderfully 
dexterous dodging to escape harm. Buck was 
in the nick of time to elude the first one, but 
was unprepared for the second. Not expect- 
ing it, he was trying to poise himself for 
another throw, when the ball from the 
teacher impinged against his closed mouth 
with so much force that he staggered back- 
ward and came near losing his balance. 
Before he could aim again, the third ball 
hit him squarely in the forehead. Then the 
teacher squatted once more, and began press- 
ing the snow between his hands, not forget- 
ting to keep keen watch on Buck. 

A general shout went up from all the boys 


122 


The Worst Boy 


except Buck and Ike Flynn. The sympathies 
of the pupils were with the teacher, and they 
were glad to see the bully checked so de- 
cisively. Buck, however, was by no means 
defeated. He was furiously angry, and with 
a burst of profanity he called to his friend: 

“ Soak him, Ike; let’s drive him into the 
schoolhouse! ” 

Ike began hurriedly shaping snowballs. 
Buck retreated several steps and Dick fol- 
lowed. Still advancing, he feinted to throw; 
then with the quickest movement of which 
he was capable, the teacher sent one ball 
after the other. Buck escaped them by drop- 
ping flat on his face in the snow, but he was 
in so much haste that he needed a few sec- 
onds in which to pack the balls he had started 
to mold. Dick was as rapid as he, and 
when he straightened up he again had two 
in his left hand and one in his right. 

Dreading what was coming, Buck turned 
and ran a few paces, so as to make it easier 
for him to dodge. He was as resolute as ever 
to keep up the fight. Dick whipped back 
his right arm and threw the ball with might 
and main, but he did not aim at Buck. He 
saw Ike Flynn in the act of launching his 
missile, in obedience to the orders of the 




CAUGHT IT ON THE END OF HIS KNOBBY NOSE. 




The School Bully 123 

bigger bully, and though the teacher’s at- 
tention seemed fixed upon the latter, he 
really aimed at Ike. This unsuspicious youth 
caught it on the end of his knobby nose, and 
with a howl of pain dropped the ball he was 
about to throw, pressed his hands against his 
face, and staggered to one side. 

Chandler started on a trot toward Buck, 
who stood his ground and viciously hurled 
the ball at his opponent, who, seeing that it 
would strike his chest, allowed it to do so, 
without attempting to dodge. Like the 
teacher, Buck had two more snowy spheres 
ready, and snatching one from his left hand 
he threw again at the teacher. And then 
took place a singular thing, the like of which 
isn’t seen once in a thousand snowball battles. 

Each threw a missile in the same instant, 
and each was aimed with unerring accuracy. 
They met squarely in mid-air and the two 
were shattered to fragments. Buck didn’t 
understand it, but the teacher did. While 
the other was gaping in bewilderment, the 
next ball arrived a little ahead of time, and 
Buck received it again in the face, where- 
upon he whirled about and ran to get out 
of range of the bombardment. 

“ If you won’t stand your ground, there’s 


124 The Worst Boy 

no fun in this,” called Dick, turning and 
hurrying to the school building, into which 
he passed before either of the boys clearly 
understood his action. 

“ He makes believe it’s time to open 
school,” growled Buck to Ike, who man- 
aged to force a grin on his battered coun- 
tenance; “ but he’s afeard of us.” 

“ I don’t see what he’s afeard of,” called 
Billy Brown, who therein expressed the sen- 
timents of the others; “ he come near knock- 
ing both your heads off; he’d done it too if 
you hadn’t run.” 

“ You’ve got too much to say, nosey,” 
shouted the angry Buck; “ take that! ” 

And before Billy knew what was coming, 
he was struck by one of Buck’s missiles in 
the side. He gasped with pain, pressed 
a hand against his ribs, and bravely forced 
back the impulse to cry. The teacher, who 
was standing in the door and ringing the 
bell, saw the cruel act and his eyes flashed, 
but he said nothing that any one heard. 

“ I shall have to conquer that brute, and 
when I do so, he’ll stay conquered; the same 
may be said of Flynn, though he isn’t half 
so ugly.” 

Having rung the bell, the teacher stepped 


The School Bully 125 

back to his desk. A warm fire was burning 
in the stove, where it was kindled early each 
morning by the Irishman with whom Dick 
had made a contract to attend to the sweep- 
ing and heating. The teacher assumed a 
look of indifference, as if the struggle in 
which he had just taken part was an every- 
day occurrence. None the less he instinct- 
ively felt that trouble was coming. He de- 
termined to force matters. 

When he saw how Billy Brown was suf- 
fering, and how bravely he tried to hide it, 
Dick’s heart ached. Before opening the 
exercises, he spoke from his chair to the boy 
in his seat, a few paces away. Buck and 
Flynn, without making any inquiries, had 
occupied places on the other side of the room, 
as far from the desk as possible. 

“What is the matter, Billy?” 

“ Nothing,” was the whimpering reply. 

“ Has anybody hurt you? ” 

The boy did not answer. He was rubbing 
his eyes and striving hard to keep back the 
tears that would come. The teacher rose to 
his feet. 

“ I think I saw Buck Smith hit you with 
a snowball: is it that which hurts you?” 

“ It doesn’t hurt much; I’ll soon get over 


126 


The Worst Boy 


it,” said Billy, who was afraid of rousing the 
ill-will of the bully. 

“ Any one who would do a thing like that 
is a big coward ; I don’t wonder that he ran 
away from me; I repeat that Buck Smith is 
a miserable, sneaking coward, and if he 
doesn’t ask your pardon before all the school 
I shall give him the biggest thrashing of his 
life.” 

Buck couldn’t believe he heard aright, 
while Ike Flynn sat dumb. Could it be that 
this was the individual whom Buck meant 
to fling out-of-doors? Flow he had longed 
for this hour during the past weeks! He had 
driven two teachers from the district, and 
wouldn’t he do it again? What a glorious 
opening! 

Dick stood quietly beside his desk. His 
face was a shade paler than usual, but his 
voice was low and even. He looked from 
Billy to Buck. 

“ Are you sorry for hurting a small boy 
like that? ” asked the teacher of the red- 
faced bully. 

“Me sorry!” snarled the latter. “ Wal, 
it would taken seventeen teachers and a half 
like you to make me sorry.” 

As he spoke, he sprang up, and doubling 


The School Bully 127 

his fists and compressing his swollen lips, 
advanced upon Dick. Ike Flynn hardly 
breathed, but held himself ready, provided 
his courage held out, to go to the help of 
his hero. 

Standing thus, in the clear space in front 
of his desk, Dick calmly awaited the attack 
of the bully. He knew he was his master. 
He could subdue the hulking fellow as 
easily as he could lay Billy Brown or Harry 
Taggart across his knee. One blow, such as 
the athlete knew how to strike, would fell 
Buck like an ox stricken by the ax of the 
butcher. Dick had conquered more than 
one powerful student in college who was 
known for his skill with the gloves, but he 
resolved that he would not strike the fellow 
before him, nor do him bodily harm, unless 
an unexpected turn in the collision should 
force him to do so. 

The hush of the tomb fell upon the school. 
All the boys and girls were scared, and 
watched the couple with breathless intensity 
of interest. They expected to see a rough- 
and-tumble fight, in which the teacher would 
get the worst of it. 

When directly in front of the waiting in- 
structor, Buck struck viciously at him — so 


128 


The Worst Boy 


viciously indeed that he grunted, and Dick 
felt the wind of the blow which grazed his 
face. He had parried it with his right hand, 
and he now shot forward his left, and seized 
the cotton necktie which encircled Buck’s 
throat. Then was the moment when he 
could have used his other hand with a force 
that would have stretched his foe uncon- 
scious on the floor. Instead of doing so, he 
held his left arm as rigid as a bar of iron, 
his fingers between the tie and the thick 
neck. 

“Why don’t you hit me?” asked Dick 
tantalizingly. “You can’t do it.” 

The bully swung both arms, but they beat 
empty air. His fists came close to the cheek 
of the teacher, but, because of the superior 
length of that immovable arm, they did not 
quite reach him. Buck grasped the arm, 
and strove desperately to twist the grip loose. 
He might as well have tried to bend the 
limb of a mountain oak. 

The pressure on the necktie slowly tight- 
ened. Dick gradually turned his wrist over, 
and Buck began to find a difficulty in breath- 
ing. Before his wind was wholly shut off, 
and while he was panting from his efforts, he 
called chokingly to his comrade: 


The School Bully 


129 


“ Ike, why don’t you help me? ” 

The teacher glanced over Buck’s shoulder 
at the other boy, who was hesitating, but 
about to answer the appeal. 

“ I haven’t struck Buck,” said Dick warn- 
ingly; “ if you come within reach, I’ll strike 
you! ” 

“ I hain’t got nothing to do with this 
fight!” muttered Flynn, sinking back into 
his seat; “ fight it out yourselves.” 

Again that relentless stricture on Buck’s 
throat increased. He kicked fiercely with 
one foot, but with the first essay the teacher 
seized the ankle like a flash and slowly 
forced him back over one of the benches 
nearest the stove. Buck was helpless. 

In his distress, he closed both hands around 
the wrist at his throat, and strove to release 
himself. Dick held him a moment thus, 
carefully watching the signs. The youth 
was at his mercy. 

When Buck dropped his hands, the master 
allowed him to breathe, and asked in his 
quiet voice: 

“ Have you had enough? ” 

The stubborn fellow was not ready to 
yield, and instantly renewed the struggle, 
but it was useless. That fearful left hand 


The Worst Boy 


130 

closed as fixedly as before, and the wrist 
began slowly turning. When Buck could 
barely speak, he gasped: 

“I’ve got enough; lemme go; I won’t 
hurt you.” 

“I don’t think you will; I am not ready 
to release you; you must first ask pardon 
of Billy Brown.” 

At this the younger lad became hysterical. 
With the tears streaming down his cheeks 
he broke into laughter and called: 

“Oh, I don’t care, Mr. Chandler; don’t 
kill him.” 

“ I shall not let him go until he asks your 
forgiveness.” 

“I’ll die first!” exclaimed the purple- 
faced Buck, renewing his struggles with such 
sudden fury that he came within a hair of 
freeing himself. 

“ As you please,” replied the teacher, giv- 
ing an extra twist to the handkerchief. 

And then Buck collapsed. 

“ Lemme — go — I’ll — do — it! ” 

Dick withdrew his hand and stepped back, 
allowing his victim to straighten up, but his 
conqueror was alert. Buck stood sullen and 
with eyes downcast. Then he turned to take 
his seat, but the teacher jerked him back. 


The School Bully 


131 

“Not until you have done as you prom- 
ised.” 

The bully was silent for a few seconds. 
He was swallowing the bitterest dose of his 
life. Then, with a sheepish grin, he looked 
at the little fellow whom he had hurt. 

“ I’m sorry, Billy; I won’t do it again.” 

“ That’s all right, Buck; I ain’t mad at 
you.” 

“You may take your seat!” 

Buck slouched back beside Ike Flynn. 
The teacher looked at the latter and said: 

“ If you have anything to say, Isaac, I am 
ready for you.” 

“Oh, I hain’t nothing ag’in you; I think 
you’re the splendidest teacher that ever 
lived.” 

Dick could not repress a smile. 

“ And I hope you will be one of my 
splendidest pupils; we will now open the ex- 
ercises.” 

And then amid the hush, and standing in 
his usual place behind his desk, the instructor 
closed his eyes and reverently repeated the 
Lord’s prayer, all the boys, excepting one, 
joining in. Buck would come to it later. 

Dick used admirable tact on that eventful 
day. He pitied the humiliation of the big 


132 


The Worst Boy 


fellow and did what he could to lessen it. 
He avoided the natural mistake of giving 
too much attention to him. Buck had 
brought no books to school and the teacher 
supplied him from his limited store. The 
lad had little learning, but showed a desire 
for knowledge. Dick strove to be unusually 
genial with the school itself. The effect of 
the victory in the morning was to awe those 
who were disposed to be mischievous; they 
were more attentive and studious than usual. 
In the course of the day, their instructor 
related several entertaining incidents, which 
made all feel pleasant. Once a furtive glance 
at Buck showed a faint smile on his face. 
He had been amused by one of the stories 
of his conqueror. 

The latter refrained from going out of 
doors at recess, as he would have done in 
other circumstances, to join in the sports 
of the lads. On his return from dinner, the 
teacher rather expected another snowball 
contest with Buck, though in a friendly 
spirit, but the youth took care to send no 
challenging missile in the direction of his 
instructor. 

When school was dismissed in the after- 
noon, Buck kept his seat, observing which, 


The School Bully 133 

Ike Flynn did the same. Buck looked an- 
grily at him. 

“ What are you waiting for? ” he de- 
manded. 

“ Thought I’d stay with you.” 

“ I don’t want you; clear out.” 

“ All right,” replied Ike, meekly rising and 
following the others. 

Dick waited till the last one had gone, 
and the door was closed behind him. He 
knew that the Spirit was working in Buck. 

The fellow had wheeled around on the 
bench, so as to sit with his back to the desk 
and the wall behind him. His face was 
red and he was now fighting hard with him- 
self. The teacher looked kindly at him and 
still waited. Suddenly the youth looked up 
and said in a firm voice: 

“ Mr. Chandler, Billy Brown said he’d 
forgive me; will you do so? ” 

It was hard for the teacher to command 
himself, but in a slightly tremulous tone he 
replied: 

“ With all my heart, Buck; you and I are 
going to be the best of friends from now on.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE DEACON’S “ SYMPATHY ” 

That winter was one of the severest in the 
history of America. A financial panic caused 
much suffering everywhere. Scores of the 
oldest mercantile houses toppled over like 
tenpins; great enterprises which gave work 
to thousands, stopped operations; and mills, 
factories, and workshops beyond listing, 
closed their doors. In the cities, the bread 
lines grew longer, and despite the activity 
of individual and public charity, men, 
women, and children perished of starvation. 
No known law governs panics and “ hard 
times,” which often come with the sudden- 
ness of the cyclone, and spread ruin, devasta- 
tion, and death on every hand. 

Ampere district could not wholly escape 
the blow. Perhaps, all things considered, 
the farmer is the most independent member 
of the community. He may be deprived of 
ready money and may have to economize 
rigidly in clothing and other necessities, but 
134 


The Deacon's “Sympathy” 135 

his bread and butter are drawn from the 
ground under his feet, and rarely or never 
need he suffer for food. 

In the region known as Bear Hollow, 
which was half a mile to the rear of the 
schoolhouse, dwelt eight families, most of 
them having numerous children, the fathers 
of whom earned their living on the railway. 
Their employment had been steady for years, 
but the relentless need of economy caused all 
to be “ laid off,” with the vague promise of 
employment again when the times should 
improve. 

To these needy ones were added almost as 
many families scattered through the neigh- 
borhood. Two were widows, one with three 
and the other with four small children, most 
of the others were proud and suffered in 
silence. They would have to be much more 
needy before asking help of the poormaster 
of the county or allowing their pitiful plight 
to become known to their neighbors, who 
hesitated to offer charity through fear of 
giving offense. 

Early in December, Doctor Hemingway 
gave notice from the pulpit that a meeting of 
the members and others would be held two 
nights later in the main body of the church 


The Worst Boy 


136 

to consider and adopt means for aiding the 
impoverished who were at their doors. 

“ Providence permitting,” he added, “ I 
shall be here, ready to do all I can to assist 
in this work. If Christianity means any- 
thing, it means clothing the naked, warming 
the shivering, and feeding the hungry. We 
cannot understand the mystery of pain and 
suffering in the world, but there is no mys- 
tery as to what our duty is so long as they 
exist. I know of my own knowledge that at 
this moment there are scores of men, women, 
and children who are in actual need of food. 
This need will increase as the winter ad- 
vances. We have no time to lose; I trust 
that every one of you will give this important 
matter prayerful consideration and come pre- 
pared to do your utmost.” 

Tuesday evening was clear and starlit. 
Enough snow lay on the ground to make 
sleighing pleasant, and those who did not 
prefer to walk came to the church by such 
conveyances. Doctor Hemingway and his 
daughter were among the early arrivals. 
They were driven by their colored coach- 
man, all being warmly wrapped in furs and 
robes. Early as they came, many were ahead 
of them. The church was half-filled, and 


The Deacon's “ Sympathy” 137 

other people steadily thronged through both 
front doors. 

When the venerable clergyman rose to 
offer prayer hardly a seat was empty. He 
had seen nothing like it for years and his 
heart warmed at the sight. By virtue of his 
office he acted as chairman, and his daughter 
was named as secretary. 

“ It does me good to look into your faces,” 
said the doctor, rising beside the little table 
in front of the pulpit; “your hearts are all 
in the right place, and I know from your 
expression that you are eager to go to work. 
Since Sunday my daughter and I have made 
further investigations and find the situation 
of many families worse than we had sup- 
posed. I shall not mention names nor cite 
instances, but I assure you that not a day 
nor an hour should be lost; time is too 
precious; some of the sufferers are so sensi- 
tive that they are bearing their hunger in 
silence; food is needed this very moment: 
many a house is cold and dismal, though in 
the open country the want of fuel is not so 
pressing as in the cities. Now, in order to 
save time, I suggest that a committee be 
named who shall take charge of the relief 
of the needy. This committee will be your 


138 The Worst Boy 

agent, but it must have assistance or it will 
be powerless. Our pleasant duty will be to 
furnish it the means — the sinews of war, 
as it may be termed. Several hundreds of 
dollars should be secured before we adjourn. 
I shall be glad to hear from any brother or 
sister.” 

The clergyman sat down. Usually at 
such times there is a lull, though many may 
be eager to proclaim their ideas. Hardly, 
however, had he resumed his chair, when 
Deacon Whitsett, from his pew near the 
front, rose to his feet and cleared his throat 
impressively. 

Sitting to the left and several pews back, 
Asaph Jenkins felt a sudden pang of re- 
proach. It was only a few weeks since his 
sharp interview with the rich country mer- 
chant, the result of which was the wringing 
of a ten-dollar library subscription from 
him, followed by a check for that amount. 

“ I was too hard on him,” thought Asaph; 
“he’s not so stingy an old fellow after all; 
he means to come down with a big subscrip- 
tion. If I hadn’t arranged with Mr. Green 
to open an opposition store, I should feel in- 
clined to hold off.” 

“ I have been told he is close and hard- 


The Deacon's “Sympathy” 139 

fisted,” mused Dick Chandler, “ but his heart 
is all right. What does that mean?” 

The teacher just then caught the eye of 
Squire Redwood in the pew with him, and 
what did the squire do but gravely wink at 
him? 

As the deacon’s tall stooping form straight- 
ened, he stepped into the aisle and stood 
under the swinging lamp over his head. 
He drew a paper from his coat-pocket and 
held it so that the reflection fell upon the 
writing. He adjusted his spectacles with the 
other hand, cleared his throat, and said in 
his thin voice: 

“ Mr. Cheerman, I beg to offer the fol- 
lowing.” 

He glanced over the top of his glasses and 
peered at the doctor, who inclined his head: 
“ We shall all be glad to hear from 
Brother Whitsett,” whereupon the deacon, 
amid the profound hush, read: 

“ Whereas, There is much suffering in the 
country on account of hard times, and some 
of the aforesaid sufferers are in our midst; 
and 

" Whereas, These sufferers have always 
shown themselves to be orderly and law- 
abiding citizens; and, 


140 The Worst Boy 

" Whereas , The history of our beloved 
country shows that hard times never last 
long, but are always succeeded by better 
times than before; therefore, 

“ Resolved , That we who are here assem- 
bled feel it our duty to urge upon those in 
our midst to be economical and careful in 
their manner of living, and to keep up hope, 
knowing that the clouds will soon roll by, 
and the sun will again shine in all its efful- 
gence as aforesaid. 

“ Resolved , That all the poor in our midst 
have our sincere sympathy.” 

Having finished the reading, the deacon 
took off his glasses, walked forward, and lay- 
ing the paper on the stand in front of Miss 
Hemingway, said: 

“ Mr. Cheerman, I move the adoption of 
them resolutions.” 

Dick Chandler rose, while Asaph Jenkins 
began writing on a pad with his pencil, 
smiling as he did so. 

“ I should like to ask Deacon Whitsett 
whether that is all he has to say.” 

The deacon had resumed his vigorous 
chewing of nothing. Returning to his place 
in the aisle opposite his own pew, he looked 
at the teacher. 


The Deacon's “ Sympathy ” 


H 1 

“ I don’t exactly understand what you 
mean, Mr. Chandler.” 

“ You have offered your sympathy to those 
who are in need of food; I wish to ask what 
you mean by sympathy.” 

The deacon’s mirthless smile was intended 
to crush the presumptuous young man. 

The two spoke directly to each other, thus 
violating parliamentary law by ignoring the 
chairman, but he did not object. 

“ You’re a school teacher, and some folks 
think you know a good deal; if you don’t 
understand the meaning of the word ‘ sym- 
pathy,’ you’d better ask one of your little 
boys.” 

All unruffled, Dick retorted: 

“ Suppose one of the committee should 
walk into a house where the father, mother, 
and children were shivering in the cold and 
were gaunt with hunger, and he should say 
to the sufferers, ‘ I haven’t any fuel or bread 
or clothing to give you, but Deacon Whit- 
sett sends you from his store of groceries his 
“ sympathy ” ’ — I wish to ask how much 
good that would do them. Will they be less 
hungry, will their rags warm their bodies, 
or will they be benefited in any way?” 

He looked inquiringly at the deacon, who 


142 The Worst Boy 

folded his arms, slid lower down in his pew, 
chewed harder than ever, and scornfully re- 
fused to reply. 

At this juncture Asaph Jenkins came to his 
feet. 

“ Mr. Chairman, I have a resolution to 
offer.” 

He walked forward and handed a slip of 
paper to Miss Hemingway. She read it over 
to herself, and all saw her smile. Then she 
stood up and said in her clear voice: 

“Resolved, That Deacon Allen Q. Whit- 
sett give five sacks of his best Pillsbury flour 
to the poor of Ampere district, the same to 
be distributed by such committee as shall be 
appointed at this meeting.” 

This motion was clearly out of order, and 
Doctor Hemingway knew it, but the vein 
of humor and justice in his composition 
caused him to hold his peace and to look 
expectantly in the faces before him. 

The angered deacon bounced to his feet. 

“ I won’t do nothing of the kind; nobody 
can make me give away what belongs to my- 
self.” 

“ I am afraid,” said the chairman gravely, 
“ that I shall have to rule the motion out of 
order, Mr. Jenkins.” 


The Deacon's “ Sympathy ” 143 

“ I bow to the decision of the chair,” re- 
plied the latter; “I had some doubts of its 
being parliamentary, when I submitted it. 
I wish to say, however, that Mr. Green, who 
will open a new grocery store next Monday 
at 1 The Corners,’ will make such a donation 
as I have named to the needy families of 
our neighborhood.” 

At this point, Mr. Green arose on the other 
side of the church. 

“ Mr. Chairman, regard for the truth will 
not permit me to remain silent. The contri- 
bution named by Mr. Jenkins was arranged 
for yesterday, but it is Mr. Jenkins who bears 
the expense. That is the understanding be- 
tween him and me.” 

“ Oh no, it isn’t,” promptly interposed 
Jenkins; “I shall claim the privilege of 
making the trifling gift which you had no 
business to mention, but you personally have 
got to hand me five sacks; if you don’t, I 
shall add their cost to your rent.” 

Amid the general laugh the blushing Mr. 
Green said as he sat down: 

“ I shall be as glad as you to do that.” 

“ And in recognition of your liberality I 
hope every family, without exception, will 
give you its custom. As my resolution is 


The Worst Boy 


144 

ruled out, Mr. Chairman, I second those 
offered by Deacon Whitsett and trust all will 
vote as they feel.” 

“ The secretary will read the resolutions 
again.” 

Dorothy Hemingway did so in as grave a 
voice as her father’s. 

“You have all heard the motion: those 
who are in favor will say, ‘ Aye.’ ” 

The doctor paused. The hush was un- 
broken. Even the deacon chewed sourly and 
remained silent. 

“Those who are opposed say, ‘No.’” 

The response was thunderous. 

“ The next thing in order perhaps will be 
the appointment of a committee of distribu- 
tion among those who are in need of aid. 
Will you make the nominations or is it your 
pleasure that the chair shall appoint? ” 

“ I suggest that the chair appoint,” said 
Dick Chandler. 

Here the fine hand of the teacher ap- 
peared. He had talked with the doctor, 
who wished to make him chairman, but 
Dick persuaded the clergyman that Asaph 
Jenkins, because of his acquaintance through- 
out the district, the leisure at his command, 
and his generous disposition, was the one 


The Deacon's “Sympathy” 145 

above all others to serve in that position. 
At the same time Dick promised what aid 
he could give. 

The second member of the committee 
was Buck Smith. He was sitting at the rear 
of the church, never dreaming of anything 
of the kind, but grinning over the way in 
which, as he expressed it, the folks were 
“ soaking ” the deacon. He almost fell off 
his seat, and his face turned crimson. He 
would have declined, but didn’t know how 
to do it. While he was meditating whether 
he should snatch up his cap, dash out of the 
door, and not stop running until the Am- 
pere district was miles behind, the chairman 
named his daughter as the third member. 
Every one felt the appropriateness of this, 
and the whole committee were confirmed 
without a dissenting voice. 

“ It’s all right, Buck,” assured the teacher, 
grasping the hand of the big fellow after 
adjournment; “you will get as much good 
out of it as in playing ball. Help us in this, 
and you can count on me when we begin 
practice next spring.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


BUCK SMITH 

INASMUCH as nearly all the leading fam- 
ilies were represented at this notable gather- 
ing in Ampere church, the leaders of the 
movement were wise in striking while the 
iron was hot. Miss Hemingway had a large 
subscription paper ready, which she and her 
father had already signed. They were fol- 
lowed by most of the others, who crowded 
forward. Asaph Jenkins was on the watch 
for two members, Deacon Whitsett and Land- 
lord Jorson. He was prepared to say some- 
thing sharp to them if they gave the chance, 
but the deacon, instead of going to the front 
with the others, walked outdoors, glum and 
sour, without saying a word to any one. 
Jorson hesitated a few minutes, but must 
have had a fear of what awaited him, for 
he slunk after the deacon into the outer 
darkness. 

Asaph Jenkins asked Miss Hemingway 
and Buck Smith to meet him in one corner 

146 


Buck Smith 


H7 

of the church, that they might lay out their 
plan of work. Buck was grinning and 
blushing, having overcome the panic into 
which he was first thrown. He made up his 
mind not to resign until he learned the nature 
of the work awaiting him. It should be 
said that Buck or Buchanan, to give his full 
name, was an orphan who lived with Mr. 
Curtis, a prosperous farmer whose boy War- 
ren was one of the pupils in the public 
school. Mr. Curtis was rather slow-witted, 
but meant well. He never interfered with 
Buck’s conduct. When he heard of the youth 
throwing a teacher out of school, he merely 
remarked, “ Boys will be boys,” and let it 
go at that. 

As the youth walked toward the corner 
of the room, Miss Hemingway gave him her 
hand. 

“ I am glad, Buck, you are going to help 
us,” she smiled; “there isn’t any one in 
church I’d rather have as a right-hand man 
than you.” 

“How about me?” demanded Jenkins, 
who overheard the remark, as the speaker 
intended he should. 

“ I shouldn’t give Buck for half a dozen 
of you.” 


148 The Worst Boy 

“Well, that’s what I call rubbing it in; 
what do you think, Buck? ” 

The big fellow grinned more expansively 
than ever. 

“ I don’t believe I’ll amount to anything, 
but I’ll do my best.” 

“Nobody can do more than that. Well, 
let’s get down to business, for I don’t sup- 
pose Doctor Hemingway will want to wait 
long.” 

The method agreed upon could not have 
been simpler. The neighborhood was ap- 
portioned into three districts or sections, each 
of the committee taking one under his or 
her care. Miss Hemingway, by her own 
request, was assigned to Bear Hollow. Jenkins 
did not ask the reason, but he suspected it. 
She had already visited it so often on her 
sweet ministrations that she knew every one, 
including all the children. They would feel 
freer in making known their wants to her 
than to a comparative stranger. This left 
eight families that it was believed were in 
need. Jenkins asked Buck to name the four 
he preferred to call upon. Buck said he had 
no choice, whereupon he was assigned to that 
number, all within convenient distance of one 
another. 


Buck Smith 


149 


It began to look as if Jenkins knew before- 
hand the shape that matters would take that 
evening at the church meeting, for he drew 
from his pocket a package of printed forms 
and handed a score to Miss Hemingway and 
the same number to Buck, while he retained 
the remainder. 

“ Where you find any one who wants 
flour, sugar, bread, or anything in the way of 
food, write the name in this form, with what- 
ever you wish him or her to have, and with 
that of Deacon Whitsett above, sign your 
name. All the applicant has to do is to 
take the paper to the deacon’s store and the 
order will be honored.” 

“ When did you say Mr. Green will be 
ready for business?” asked Dorothy. 

“ He expects to open next Monday; some 
of his goods have arrived.” 

“ I tell you what will be better than that,” 
said Buck, who was rapidly plucking up 
courage. 

“ What is that? ” 

“ When we find any one starving to death, 
why, just tell him to hold on and stand it a 
few days longer, and then go to the new 
store and eat enough to make up for lost 
time.” 


150 The Worst Boy 

Neither Jenkins nor Dorothy smiled. The 
former said: 

“ It might be, Buck, that the poor chil- 
dren couldn’t stand it any longer; you re- 
member Doctor Hemingway said we hadn’t 
an hour to spare.” 

“ I forgot that, but I’m down on that old 
fraud of a deacon.” 

“ You don’t despise him any more than I 
do; we shall use him, but switch off to Mr. 
Green as soon as he is ready for us. Excuse 
me a moment.” 

Jenkins hurried across to where the sub- 
scribers had laid their contributions on the 
table. They footed up more than two hun- 
dred dollars, with considerable remaining 
in pledge. He caught up the bills and re- 
joined his friends. 

“ Here, Buck, is fifty dollars; keep it 
with you until you have a chance to dis- 
tribute it among the poor; Miss Heming- 
way will do the same, and I’ll hold on to 
the balance; don’t be too free with the funds 
at first, yet don’t slight any one. One good 
thing is that many of those who have money 
instead of orders are likely to walk over to 
Ridgewood and spend it there instead of 
going to Deacon Whitsett’s store.” 


Buck Smith 


151 

“ I sha’n’t forget to tell ’em to do that,” 
commented Buck. 

When the meeting had adjourned, and the 
people were going homeward, Buck lingered 
until he was alone near the corner of the 
wall which bounded the graveyard of the 
church. 

“ Doctor Hemingway said there wasn’t 
an hour to lose, so what’s the use of my 
waiting till to-morrow? Widow Shefflein is 
the nearest; her home can’t be much more 
than a mile off; it’s early, and I’ll head for 
her place.” 

Buttoning his coat to his chin, and pulling 
his fur cap over his ears, Buck thrust his 
hands into his side-pockets and struck a pace 
which quickly carried him to his destination. 

A light twinkled from the window, and 
knocking at the door, he was bidden to enter. 
The thin, pale-faced woman had just put her 
children to bed, and was sewing by the light 
of a tallow candle in front of the scant 
wood fire on the hearth. She showed her 
astonishment at the visit, but, knowing Buck, 
gave him welcome. He proceeded to busi- 
ness at once. 

“ Mrs. Shefflein, there has been a meeting 
down at the church to-night and a big lot of 


152 The Worst Boy 

money was raised: how much of it do you 
want? ” 

The surprised woman silently looked at 
him. 

“You don’t catch on; I should have said 
we’ve found out that there’s a few families 
in Ampere district that are in need of clothes 
and food; I’ve an idee you’re one of ’em; if 
you are, say so, or never speak ag’in about it.” 

“ It grieves me very much, Buck ” 

“ I don’t see why you should grieve; that 
hain’t got anything to do with it.” 

“ I should never confess it if it were not 
for my little ones; they are hungry.” 

“ How about yourself? Couldn’t you 
manage to surround a big lot of victuals if 
you had a chance? Out with it; for I’ve got 
to call at three other places before I go to 
bed.” 

Thus pressed, the widow, whose eyes filled 
with tears, admitted her need. 

Buck drew the wad of bills from his 
pocket. 

“ How much will do you till next Mon- 
day? ” 

“ If I had one or two dollars it would 
make us all comfortable.” 

“ Get out! Here’s five dollars; but,” added 


Buck Smith 


i S3 

the youth sternly, “ it’s give to you on one 
condition; you must go over to Ridgewood 
to spend it.” 

“ Why, Buck, it’s four miles to that town.” 

“ That don’t make any difference; I’ll send 
round our sleigh to-morrow morning and 
you and Mrs. Jennings, where I’m going to 
call next, can drive over together.” 

“ Oh, Buck, how kind you are!” she said 
in a broken voice. 

“ None of that; I didn’t do it; it’s the other 
folks; I’ll see you ag’in in a few days: good- 
night.” 

He hurried to the next widow’s home. 
She, too, was sitting alone in her humble liv- 
ing-room, and was startled when she heard the 
heavy step, followed by the resounding knock. 
Nor was she much relieved at sight of the 
caller. She knew all about Buck, the bully 
of the neighborhood, who had long been the 
terror of adults as well as of children. 

When Mrs. Jennings grasped the meaning 
of the visit and the five dollars was placed 
in her thin hand, she impulsively threw her 
arms about the big fellow’s neck, and, with 
tears in her eyes, kissed him on the cheek. 

“ Don’t do that,” he protested, disengaging 
the arms none too gently, and stooping to 


The Worst Boy 


i54 

pick up his cap that had fallen to the floor; 
“ this ain’t my money; it was give by the 
folks at church to-night. I must hurry!” 

“ Heaven bless them and you, Buck; now 
my children and I will have plenty of food: 
yes, I’ll take the ride to Ridgewood with 
Mrs. Shefflein to-morrow as soon as you 
send the sleigh; I’ll never forget the kind 
people and you in my prayers.” 

“ Much obleeged — I need ’em. Good- 
night.” 

The hour was late, and it was a half-mile 
to the next home. When the messenger of 
hope and good cheer reached it the man and 
wife were preparing to retire. Mr. Hains 
was one of the toilers on the railway and was 
idle against his will. The stress of his condi- 
tion was shown by the fact that he had not 
enough tobacco even to smoke. He was a 
man of few words, but there could be no 
mistaking his heartfelt gratitude. Under the 
plea of haste and the lateness of the hour, 
Buck did not take the time to sit down. 

“ There’s no telling when one of ’em might 
break out,” was the shuddering thought of 
the young man; “if they do, I want to be 
somewhere else — and yet,” he added with a 
grin, as he strode away in the darkness, 


Buck Smith 


i55 

“ there’s something about this business that 
makes a fellow feel all right.” 

Pat O’Brien lived in the last house. No 
light twinkled from any of the windows. 
Pat was a merry-hearted Irishman, and also 
a railway employe. He had been figuring 
that evening that he had enough tobacco to 
last him three days longer, if he used strict 
economy. His love for his wife and five 
little ones would not permit him to spend a 
penny in self-indulgence so long as they were 
in need. When he and his wife went to 
their room he spoke in his cheerful voice, 
but his heart was heavy. He was wondering 
how much longer he would have to wait 
before asking the poormaster for relief. 
With his growing family, his scant wages 
would not allow him to lay by a penny 
against the rainy day that was sure to come 
sooner or later. 

Buck had to pound on the door with his 
fist several times before an upper window 
was raised, and the bushy head of Pat was 
thrust out. 

“ Who is it that’s distoorbing dacent folks 
in the middle of the night? ” he asked. 

“ It’s me, Buck Smith; I want to see you 
partic’lar, Pat.” 


The Worst Boy 


156 

“ Arrah, now, yees hev coom to borrow a 
thousan’ dollars from me; I knows yer ways, 
Buck. Sorry I can’t accommodate you; wait 
till the bank opens to-morrer.” 

“ Come down right off and let me in; if 
you don’t I’ll break in the door, and then 
you’ll be sorry.” 

“ It’s likely I’ll be sorry if I admit yees, 
but I’ll take chances, for it’s me curiosity 
that makes me want to know what yer busi- 
ness can be, as me little Mike said whin he 
examined the stinger of a bumble-bee, and 
dropped the same with a yell.” 

The window was lowered, a candle was 
lighted on the lower floor, and Pat in his 
stocking feet drew back the bolt and admitted 
his caller. 

“ I can’t stay, Pat; the folks at the church 
raised a pile of money to-night and have 
sent me round to divide some of it among 
them as can make better use of it than they 
can. Here’s ten dollars for you; one condi- 
tion is that you must go to Ridgewood and 
spend it; buy a farm if you want to, but 
don’t keep me longer; I’m getting sleepy — 
Good-night! ” 

Pat followed him to the door, and stand- 
ing in the light of the candle, called: 


Buck Smith 


i57 

“ Coom back in half an hour and wake 
me, Buck; I’m draaming now.” 

It was well toward eleven o’clock when 
Buck, with his long, vigorous stride, ap- 
proached “ The Corners.” As he came op- 
posite the tavern the door opened and a 
man staggered out. He could walk quite 
well, and turning to the left, headed toward 
Bear Hollow. Buck recognized him. 

“ Owen Palmer drunk again; fact, he’s 
drunk all the time. I wonder why the 
school-teacher don’t get after him.” 

Buck did not speak to the miserable fel- 
low, who passed within a few paces of him, 
but, stepping upon the porch of the tavern, 
pushed open the door and confronted the 
landlord, who was talking with two or three 
customers, and about to close for the night. 

“ Hello, Lott Jorson,” called Buck, stand- 
ing just over the threshold; “ the folks 
raised a heap of money for the poor to-night 
in Ampere district; you didn’t give any- 
thing.” 

“ Didn’t have a chance,” said the other 
sullenly. 

“ Do you want me to tell you how you 
can give as much as them all together and 
without paying a cent? ” 


158 The Worst Boy 

The landlord stared, and distrustfully 
asked : 

“ What are you driving at? ” 

“ Stop selling whisky to poor wretches 
like Owen Palmer that has just staggered 
out of your place. It will be worth a mil- 
lion dollars to Ampere, and besides you can 
feel that you ain’t the worst hypocrite and 
meanest scoundrel in the whole state. Chew 
that over. Good-night!” 

Mr. Curtis never questioned the comings 
and goings of Buck Smith. He and his 
wife had long been asleep when the big 
fellow unlocked the door of the sitting- 
room, lighted the candle that was awaiting 
him, and climbed to his room in the third 
story. There, after placing the light on the 
small stand, he dropped into a chair, crossed 
his beam-like legs, folded his arms, and 
sighed. 

“ I wonder what’s the matter with me,” 
he mused; “ I never felt so queer in my life; 
can’t be that the good things I’ve done to- 
night have struck in!” 

He grinned over his own whim. 

“ Last winter when I pitched the teacher 
out of the winder and piled the snow over 
him, I felt mighty good; though I reckon 


Buck Smith 


i 59 

he didn’t feel much that way. It must have 
been six months later that I had my big 
fight with Jersey Bill, the darkey; it was 
the hardest battle I ever fought, and once 
I thought he had me going, but I won out, 
and as the boys cheered me and shook my 
hand and give me the stakes, which the same 
was ten dollars, wasn’t I proud and didn’t 
I feel chesty? Wal, I reckon!” 

He sat a few minutes recalling that stir- 
ring incident from which he had emerged 
triumphant. Then the homely face became 
grave. 

“ But that was different. There was an 
odd feeling that come to me when that first 
widder begun crying; I had to keep swal- 
lering, and as the next one give me a smack 
before I knowed what she was up to, you 
could have knocked me over with a tooth- 
pick. It was the same at the other places, 
though they had different ways of showing 
it. It’s when I think of them calls to-night 
that the queer feeling comes over me. 

“ Mr. Chandler said the other day that 
when you done another feller a kindness you 
felt better than he did. Now them four 
families are mighty happy and it’s all I 
can do this minute to keep from yelling, 


160 The Worst Boy 

and dancing a double shuffle on the floor; 
I’d do it, too, if it wouldn’t scare the folks 
downstairs half to death. Yes; it’s ’cause 
I’ve been doin’ good to-night that I’m hap- 
pier than I ever was before. There’s some- 
thing in what the teacher said.” 

Buck was generally a sound sleeper, for 
he was blessed with rugged health, but never 
did he sleep more sweetly than on that 
night, when, as he sank into unconsciousness, 
the memory of his last blessed experience 
hovered above his pillow. 


CHAPTER XIV 


now! 

Doctor Hemingway and Dick Chandler 
agreed that the meeting held in the church 
to raise funds for the poor was the begin- 
ning of the most remarkable revival ever 
known in that district or neighborhood. 
The veteran clergyman knew the signs when 
he saw them, and no one could have been 
more alert than he. His own weakening 
physical powers would have held him back 
but for his reliance upon Dick. His assist- 
ant seemed to grow in strength spiritually, 
bodily, and mentally. 

On the Saturday night following the dis- 
tribution of aid among the poor, a con- 
ference was held in the library of the par- 
sonage. Those who took part were the 
doctor, his daughter, and Dick Chandler. 

“ They are ready,” said the old gentle- 
man, with beaming face. “ The Spirit is 
infusing them; they have fallen asleep under 
my waning administration, but are awaking. 


The Worst Boy 


162 

Three days ago two of our leading male 
members, and the same number of women, 
asked me to arrange for a series of revival 
meetings; yesterday they renewed their re- 
quest, and two others joined them; to-day 
I had five similar appeals from other mem- 
bers of the church who are eager to help in 
the work.” 

“ What a blessed state of things!” ex- 
claimed Dick. “ God would not forgive us 
if we failed in our duty.” 

“ I have met the same feeling among those 
I visited,” added Dorothy; “ in truth, the 
revival has already begun; it seems to me 
we can only assist and help direct.” 

“ I may say that I have noticed a more 
thoughtful disposition among my pupils; it 
puzzled me at first, but there is no mistaking 
it.” 

“You are to preach to-morrow, Richard; 
suppose you announce that, beginning on 
Monday night, we shall hold a series of 
prayer-meetings through the week, omitting 
possibly Saturday evening? ” 

“ Why not begin to-morrow night, 
papa?” Dorothy asked gently. 

The parent rested his hand fondly on her 
head and replied: 


Now! 


163 

“There is no reason why we should not; 
I shall not spare myself ; but, Richard, you 
are younger than I and must take the main 
work upon your shoulders.” 

“ ‘ Here am I ; send me, O, Lord,’ ” was 
his prompt response. 

“ Will you permit me to suggest a text 
for to-morrow morning? ” asked the vener- 
able man. 

“ I shall thank you very much if you will 
do so.” 

“It is this: ‘Now is the accepted time.’” 

Dick sat bolt upright. 

“ Those are the very words that have been 
haunting me for the past few days; I had 
decided to use them as the basis of my 
appeal.” 

“ It is another indication of the work of 
the Spirit,” said the Doctor reverently: 
“ you need no suggestion as to your line of 
thought: the text is so direct that you can- 
not wander from it.” 

Dick had preached a number of times, but 
never had he made so fervent and con- 
vincing a plea as on that wintry morning 
when he stood in the Ampere pulpit and 
spoke to a congregation which filled nearly 
every seat. 


164 The Worst Boy 

“ What do the inspired words, ‘Now is 
the accepted time’ mean?” he asked. “Do 
they mean next year, next month, next week, 
or to-morrow? None of these; they mean 
what they say — now. And why now? Be- 
cause it is the only time that is yours. I 
have been in this district a little more than 
two months, but in that brief period four 
new graves have been dug in your church- 
yard and four of your members have been 
laid in their last resting-place. At that 
rate a score or more will be summoned to 
the bar of God within the coming year. 
Will it be I? Will it be you? That call 
which comes like a thief in the night may 
sound in your ears before the rising of to- 
morrow’s sun. It may be deferred; I pray 
that it will, but the order will ring out 
sooner or later to every one within reach of 
my voice. 

“ Can there be a more favorable time 
for turning to God? Will it be when the 
years have bowed your head and your 
strength is departing from you, when you 
are racked with pain and suffering? You 
do not deny that you owe obedience to your 
Saviour. Is it fair to put off that submission 
until you are unable to give Him service?” 


Now! 


165 

At the conclusion of his appeal, which he 
saw had produced a deep impression, he 
announced that, beginning that evening, a 
prayer and inquiry meeting would be held 
in the main body of the church, to which 
he invited every one to be present and to 
bring as many others as possible. 

“ Mr. Jenkins, Miss Hemingway, and the 
choir will take charge of the singing; we 
have the promise of the help of our leading 
members, and Doctor Hemingway and I 
will give all the aid in our power.” 

Jenkins had assumed the leadership of 
the choir, and Dorothy played the organ. 
Dick had not asked them or any other 
singer for their services, for he knew it was 
not necessary. 

The hardest one to rouse, or to make 
sensible of his own unworthiness, is the man, 
most likely an official of the church, who 
during his long membership has dried up. 
Serene and unshakable in his conviction of 
his own goodness, stern, strict, and unchari- 
table toward the failings of others, he looks 
upon the rest of the brethren and sisters as 
unable to probe the depths of his piety or to 
approach his sanctity. 

“ For seven years,” said one of these fos- 


The Worst Boy 


i 66 

sils, as he solemnly rose in prayer-meeting, 
“ I have not done a wrong thing, spoken a 
wrong word, or had a wrong thought.” 

“ For how long? ” inquired the pastor. 

“ Seven years,” was the unctuous response. 

“ Then, my dear brother, you have been 
overdue in heaven for seven years.” 

Deacon Whitsett rarely or never absented 
himself from the mid-week prayer-meeting. 
Even when the attendance dwindled to less 
than a dozen, he was among the first ar- 
rivals. None sang more heartily than he, 
in his nasal voice, and none prayed with 
more fervency. His petitions never varied 
more than by an occasional word or two. 
Squire Redwood used to repeat the prayer 
sometimes to his wife. Now and then the 
deacon forgot himself, or “ lost his place,” 
so to speak, but he never hesitated. He 
straightway began again, and went through 
without halt. Nor did he forget to pray 
that all might be “ diligent in business,” 
and invariably he referred to himself and 
acquaintances as “ filthy rags ” in the sight 
of their Creator. The deacon would have 
felt slighted had he not been called upon to 
lead in prayer at any assemblage where it 
was offered. 


Dick Chandler and Doctor Hemingway 
were profoundly moved on the following 
Sunday night, when the church was filled 
as never before. Deacon Whitsett, all 
oblivious of the sharp rebukes he had re- 
ceived, was among the first to appear, and 
with his meek wife occupied his seat well 
up to the front, ready to respond when 
asked. Dick, who led the meeting, did not 
invite him to pray. While he had no re- 
sentment toward the man, he felt he was 
out of tune with the spirit that hovered over 
and pervaded the assemblage like a benison 
from Heaven. There were other good, 
humble men, not forgetting several gifted 
sisters, who spoke from the heart. 

Asaph Jenkins and Dorothy Hemingway 
led in the singing of several hymns, all of 
which were familiar to the people. They 
joined with fervor, even if a few were off 
the key, and lagged in a way that would 
have disturbed the nerves of any leader ex- 
cept Jenkins. This young man with his 
marvelous voice was as active in good works 
as the most ardent of the church members, 
but when appealed to by Dick, laughingly 
shook his head. 

“Not yet, old fellow; I don’t see any 


The Worst Boy 


i 68 

more light than I did months ago. I’ll 
help you in my way, but leave me out of 
the reckoning, when making up your list 
of penitents to be saved.” 

Doctor Hemingway never prayed with 
more moving power than at the opening of 
the first of the revival meetings. The old 
clergyman was profoundly affected. Some- 
thing told him that this was the last work 
of the kind in which he would ever take 
part, and he meant with God’s favor that 
it should be the best he had ever done. 

The prayer finished, Dick, in a voice 
tremulous with feeling, stood up and 
made his appeal. He spoke in a low 
conversational, but impressive voice. By- 
and-by, he heard a sob, and then others. 
The emotion was not boisterous, but intense. 

“ I shall ask all who are under conviction 
of sin, who are resolved to turn to God, and 
who wish our prayers in their behalf, to 
stand up.” 

He looked over the congregation. No 
one seemed to stir or hardly to breathe. 
It was at this moment that Asaph Jenkins 
stood beside Dick and, facing the people, 
began singing in a low voice, that was as 
the pleading of an angel: 


Now! 


169 


“‘Jesus, lover of my soul , 

Let me to thy bosom fly, 

While the nearer waters roll, 

While the tempest still is high!” 

The wonderful songster was on the second 
line when a young man sprang to his feet 
in the rear of the room. 

“Thank God!” was the exclamation of 
Dick, who recognized the youth as Buck 
Smith; “there’s another, and another, and 
still more!” 

They were rising in all parts of the room, 
and it was noteworthy that a third of the 
penitents were church members — many hav- 
ing been such for years. None felt the need 
of repentance more than they. 

Dick had the admirable gift of tact. 
Many a man in his situation would have 
called out the name of Buck Smith, or per- 
haps hastened down the aisle and flung an 
arm about his neck. Time and again a 
well-meaning person has repelled a penitent 
by such a blunder. While Dick’s heart 
glowed, he treated Buck precisely like the 
others. The warm hand-clasp and the 
words of encouragement he saved until no 
other eye could see or ear hear them. 


The Worst Boy 


! iyo 

When more than twenty had risen, Jen- 
kins began to sing the second stanza of that 
persuasive hymn. Before he could com- 
plete the line his voice abruptly stopped. 
The watchful Dorothy Hemingway saw 
what the trouble was, and instantly took up 
and went on with the hymn in a voice 
scarcely less sweet than that which had sud- 
denly become mute. 

“‘Other refuge have I none , 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; 

Leave , O leave me not alone , 

Still support and comfort me!” 

Asaph Jenkins flung up his arms, and 
dropping on his knees called out in agony, 
“ Lord, be merciful to me a sinner!’” 


CHAPTER XV 


GREAT RESULTS 

And then the Spirit took possession of all 
hearts. As much alone as in the midst of 
the wilderness or desert, Jenkins remained 
on his knees, with hands uplifted, with eyes 
streaming and his whole nature centered 
in that one plea for forgiveness and mercy. 

Ejaculations of praise sounded from every 
part of the room. Even dignified old Doc- 
tor Hemingway struck the palms of his 
hands together and added an exclamation 
of thanksgiving to the general chorus. “ I’m 
a shouting Methodist to-night!” he called 
out to all who could hear; “no wonder they 
make the arches ring!” 

Hardly a man or woman could resist the 
wave of emotion. Some of those who were 
standing joined in the thanks, while others 
sat down, bewildered by the strange scene. 
Dick started a hymn, and then was unable 
to go on. Dorothy seized the words and 
carried them through, others joining in as 


The Worst Boy 


172 

best they could. Rather curiously, she was 
the only one who remained self-possessed. 
With her intensely devout nature, she was 
suffused with the heavenly joy which 
throbbed in nearly every heart. But, some- 
how or other, she managed to remain mis- 
tress of herself all through the remarkable 
scene. Strange that in this respect she was 
stronger than her father or sturdy Dick 
Chandler. 

Amid the excitement and stress of emo- 
tion, Jenkins abruptly rose from his knees, 
stood upright, with radiant countenance, 
and while his cheeks were wet with tears of 
joy, raised one hand for silence. It was 
some time before the listeners could subdue 
themselves. 

“ My friends,” he said, while all gave 
attention to his words; “ those who have 
known me for the past years know that I 
have been a scoffer at religion; possibly not 
a scoffer, but an unbeliever. I should have 
been glad to believe but something held me 
back. I have listened to the most persuasive 
sermons of Doctor Hemingway and Mr. 
Chandler; I have helped to sing and have 
even taught a Sunday-school class, but all 
the time my heart was untouched. 


Great Results 


i73 

“ To-night God called in my ears, ‘ You 
are a sinner; if you don’t repent, you will 
be lost forever! ’ 

“ It struck me like a thunderbolt. You 
saw me drop as if I were shot; I could not 
help it; He would have served me right 
had He struck me dead where I stood, but, 
instead of doing that, He has pardoned my 
sins; I am reconciled to Him; from this 
time forward I shall be a Christian. 

“ I tell you, religion is no cunningly de- 
vised fable. It is real: let us all yield to- 
night, and not sin away the day of grace. 
Come, brother, come, sister, boys, girls, — 
every one! ” 

The response to this burning appeal was 
amazing. Two-thirds of those present 
sprang to their feet. 

“ I’ve been a church member for fifteen 
years,” confessed Hugh Longstreet in a loud 
voice; “I haven’t missed a dozen church 
services in all that time; I have given of 
my means as I could afford, and some of 
you have met me at the prayer-meetings, 
but for a long, long time religion has been 
dead within me; I need a good sound con- 
version; I must be made over again or I’m 
lost.” 


The Worst Boy 


i74 

And overcome with emotion, the sun- 
burned farmer dropped into his seat, pressed 
his handkerchief to his face, and sobbed 
unrestrainedly. 

The fountains of the deep were broken 
up. The scene which followed was beyond 
description. For a half-hour there were no 
leaders, for all were swept away by the over- 
whelming tide. Singing, prayers, and joy- 
ful shouts shook the old church as never 
before. Even Dick Chandler abandoned the 
attempt to control or direct the outburst. 

Doctor Hemingway was the first to pull 
himself together. Standing up, he raised 
one hand as a call for silence. Several min- 
utes passed before his tremulous voice could 
make itself heard. 

“ My dear brothers and sisters, you have 
learned from your own experience to-night 
what the day of Pentecost meant; let us 
calm ourselves and go to our homes; be- 
tween now and to-morrow night spend all 
the time you can in meditation and prayer; 
God never turns away from the cry of the 
penitent; come again to-morrow night pre- 
pared for another baptism, for it will not 
be denied us.” 

After he pronounced the benediction the 


Great Results 


i75 

people, amid tears, sobbings, smiles, and 
fervent handshakings, slowly fell apart and 
wended their way homeward. 

The second night of the revival was in 
many respects like the first, with the differ- 
ence that the participants were in better 
control. Dick Chandler and Doctor Hem- 
ingway had talked together, and agreed 
upon their policy. In the meantime the 
teacher said a few encouraging words to 
Buck Smith and others. He knew there was 
no mistake about their conversion, and the 
advice he gave them was invaluable. 

It has been said that the Spirit which 
fired the assemblage at church and diffused 
itself throughout the neighborhood was 
manifest in the day school. Had the teacher 
followed his impulse, he would have sus- 
pended all study and turned the session into 
a prayer-meeting; but, since the school was 
a public one, he felt he had no right to 
do this. He spoke a few words before dis- 
missal, and urged all the boys and girls, 
whose parents would permit, to be at the 
church that evening. Most of them were 
present. 

It is strange how close a smile is to a 
tear, and how often the most solemn occa- 


The Worst Boy 


176 

sion is lightened by a touch of comedy. Ike 
Flynn was not at church on Sunday evening, 
but was among the first arrivals the next 
night. He came at the heels of Buck Smith, 
who walked halfway up the middle aisle, 
and then motioned his companion to enter 
the pew. Ike meekly obeyed and Buck sat 
down next to him. 

When the invitation to rise was given for 
those who wished to start anew in the right 
path, Buck looked significantly at Ike. The 
latter fidgeted and kept his seat. Then Buck 
reached over with his big hand, gripped 
him by his coat collar, and jerked him to his 
feet. 

“Why didn’t you rise up before!” he 
demanded, in a husky whisper. 

“I meant to,” stammered Ike; “I was 
waiting to get a good start.” 

“Well, didn’t I give it to you?” 

When the services had proceeded for half 
an hour Doctor Hemingway said: 

“ Every heart must be overflowing with 
thankfulness, for it is Pentecost again; let 
us now kneel down; whoever feels like lead- 
ing in prayer will do so without waiting to 
be called upon; time is precious; do not 
waste the minutes.” 


Great Results 


i 77 

While the • congregation were sinking to 
their knees Deacon Whitsett’s thin, pene- 
trating voice was heard. He started out as 
he always did, but when halfway through 
with his stereotyped petition he must have 
felt that some recognition was due the amaz- 
ing situation that had arisen. He stumbled 
through a few broken sentences, and then 
attempted to flounder back on the track, but 
he was hopelessly derailed and starting at 
the beginning again, he went straight 
through without a break. No one smiled, 
for the solemnity of the occasion shut out 
all feelings of levity. 

Squire Redwood, after a slight pause, fol- 
lowed with a touching prayer, which stirred 
every heart. He was gifted with a natural 
eloquence, and few were more impressive 
than he at that memorable spiritual awaken- 
ing. The response to the prayer was the 
coming of several to Christ. 

The revival services in the Ampere church 
were held for three weeks on every night 
excepting Saturday. It was prudent that a 
little time should be taken for rest. After 
the period named the people came together 
on alternate nights. This continued for 
three more weeks, when the evening services 


The Worst Boy 


178 

were restricted to Sundays and the regular 
prayer-meeting on Wednesday nights. 

Again Doctor Hemingway was wise. 
What he feared was the reaction which often 
follows revivals of religion. When the 
wave rises to a great height, the watery 
valleys become deeper: exaltation often gives 
way to depression. He decreased the num- 
ber of meetings while the appetite was strong 
with the people. 

“ It is better that they should remain a 
little hungry than to become sated,” he said 
to Dick. “ They have had their time of 
feasting and renewal of strength; now let 
them get to work in the Master’s vineyard.” 

During those strenuous nights neither the 
doctor nor Dick received or asked for any 
outside aid. 

“ I am sure I could get Mr. Moody,” 
said the young man, “ and several other 
evangelists, but they have their hands full 
elsewhere, and so long as we do not need 
help, we shall not call them from other 
fields.” 

“ My sentiments are similar,” assented the 
venerable clergyman ; “ my youth seems to 
be renewed like the eagle’s and yours needs 
no renewal, for it is with you. Then, too, 


Great Results 


179 

we have a singer in Mr. Jenkins who has 
no superior anywhere.” 

“ And since his conversion he has thrown 
his whole soul into the work; he told me 
yesterday that every one in his Sunday-school 
class — and they number seventeen— will 
make a profession of faith and join the 
church on next communion day.” 

“No one can estimate the good he has 
done and is still doing. We must now, with 
the help of God, hold the people fast; there 
will be some lukewarmness later, but no 
heart should be allowed to grow cold or in- 
different. Above all,” added the clergyman, 
“ the people must realize that religion is 
much more than a profession; any one can 
call himself a Christian, but he must learn 
to conquer his own evil nature and to help 
those around him to conquer theirs.” 

“ I received a hint to-day from one of 
my pupils. Young Billy Brown is the wag 
of the school; he bubbles over with fun; he 
knows I can’t help laughing at some of his 
antics; there’s nothing vicious about him, but 
he is overcharged with mischief. He missed 
one of his lessons and I detained him after 
the others had gone. When he was through 
his recitation I asked him how he would 


180 The Worst Boy 

like to become a Christian. The bright 
little fellow told me he had thought much 
about it, but was afraid he never could be 
one. I asked him to tell me why not. 

“ ‘ I’ll have to look glum and cross, never 
laugh, and have no fun at all,’ he said, with 
one of his grimaces. I assured him that he 
was wrong; he could have just as much fun 
and be a Christian as he could without try- 
ing to please God. 

“ ‘ Is that so?’ asked the little fellow, 
looking up wonderingly in my face. ‘ Can 
I play ball, and tag, and I spy, and all 
sorts of games?’ 

“ ‘ Most certainly,’ I replied. ‘ God 
wouldn’t have given you the inclination to 
laugh and play if He didn’t mean you 
should have the chance.’ 

“ ‘ How about pinching, and sticking pins 
into the other fellers?’ he asked slyly. 

“‘You must draw the line,’ I impressed 
upon him; ‘of course you know it is wrong 
to tell a falsehood, disobey your parents, or 
teacher, or do anything that will hurt the 
feelings of others. That is, you must live 
by the Golden Rule, of doing to others ex- 
actly what you would like to have them do 
to you.’ 


Great Results 


i 8 i 

“ 1 Well, I thought I couldn’t have any 
more good times,’ said Billy, and what he 
said set me to thinking. I have decided to 
set forth next Sunday from the pulpit as best 
I can, the joy of work and the sunshine of 
religion: what do you think of it?” 

“ You couldn’t select two nobler themes; 
I may say without flattery that it will be 
a case in which your own example will add 
to the effect of your discourse.” 

“ Far less than your own, doctor,” said 
Dick warmly. 

This was the basis of the young preacher’s 
sermon the following Sunday, a sermon 
which showed plainly how the love of God, 
when it enters the heart, does change the 
current of its loves and desires so that many 
things which were enjoyed before lose their 
power to give pleasure, but that all whole- 
some amusement, all that does not leave a 
bad taste in the mouth, all that can be en- 
joyed with Christ present as a friend to share 
it, is the Christian’s privilege and delight. 


CHAPTER XVI 


FRIENDS IN COUNCIL 

At the next communion of the Ampere 
church one hundred and twenty-three 
members joined on profession of faith. The 
occasion could not have been more impress- 
ively solemn. No sermon was preached, 
but the venerable Doctor Hemingway spoke 
so feelingly that nearly all were melted to 
tears. Moreover, it was expected that more 
than a score would be added to the roll a 
month later. Most of these were children, 
whose parents preferred that they should 
receive further instruction and show that 
they fully understood the momentous im- 
portance of the step they were to take. 
Among those who left no doubt of their 
sincerity and of the soundness of their con- 
version, were Buck Smith, Ike Flynn, five 
other boys and six girls, all pupils in the 
public school. 

A few nights later Dick sat in the library 
of Asaph Jenkins. The two had become 

182 


Friends in Council: 183 

intimate and often visited each other. They 
were college graduates, brilliant intellect- 
ually, and real Christians. Their mutual 
attraction was strong, and few themes were 
discussed in which the mental attrition did 
not help each. 

“ The situation has become peculiar,” said 
Jenkins; “ if we were in the city, we should 
have to provide reading rooms and other 
amusements to keep the young men out of 
the saloons, but, fortunately, there are no 
saloons in Ampere.” 

“Always excepting Brother Jorson’s 
‘ Traveler’s Rest,’ ” replied Dick. 

“ Don’t you think we have had more than 
enough of him?” 

“ How can we close his place? He has a 
license and the law makes his horrible pro- 
fession legal.” 

“ I have found that his license will ex- 
pire in the spring; the legislature is in ses- 
sion with a good prospect of passing the local 
option bill; I intend to go down to the 
capital and work day and night for it; our 
representative has given me his promise to 
support the measure, though the brewers are 
making a dead set at him.” 

“ Heaven grant you may succeed! ” 


184 The Worst Boy 

“But what I’m getting at, Dick, is this: 
don’t you think Ampere church has been 
disgraced long enough by carrying the name 
of Lott M. Jorson as one of its members in 
good standing? ” 

“Not long enough, but too long; I have 
already formulated charges which I shall 
submit in due. form. I should have done so 
before, but thought best to await the con- 
clusion of the revival services.” 

“ Have you ever talked with him? ” 

“ I have done so twice; I thought it right 
to argue with him first and try to convince 
him, if possible, of the harm he is doing 
the community. If the local option bill be- 
comes a law, we can vote his tavern out of 
existence.” 

“I fear it will fail; there’s too much 
capital working against it. But what was 
the result of your talks with Brother Tor- 
son? ” 

“Nothing; he claims, to use his favorite 
expression, that by discriminating in his 
customers and selling the best of liquor, he is 
‘ uplifting the community.’ What’s the use 
of trifling with such hypocrites? When 
the surgeon finds it necessary to use the 
knife he does not hesitate.” 


Friends in Council 185 

“ How do you explain his remaining in 
the church so long? ” 

“ It was due to the dead-and-alive condi- 
tion of the people. Squire Redwood once 
spoke to Doctor Hemingway of the scandal, 
and the good squire had appealed privately 
to Jorson; but the doctor felt more timid 
then than he does now, and thought it best 
to wait and see whether Jorson wouldn’t 
awaken to the error of his ways.” 

“ Well, Dick, since your course in that re- 
spect has been decided upon and the revival 
services are closed, and we don’t need any 
halls of amusement to hold the young men 
and boys to the faith, are you going to let 
things slide?” 

u By no means; I have already taken 
steps to organize a debating society, which 
will meet once each week; then you will 
start a singing school: are you ready?” 

“ Oh, I’m ready to climb a tree and sit 
and grin among the limbs if you think it 
will help in any way,” replied Jenkins with 
his one-sided smile. “ Counting the prayer- 
meeting, that will give us three nights each 
week, which I judge are enough.” 

“ They will be, if handled right. I 
haven’t told you, Jenkins, that Doctor Hem- 


The Worst Boy 


i 86 

ingway and I feel that your help with your 
marvelous voice has been ” 

“ Being as you never have told me,” in- 
terrupted the other, “ suppose you don’t try 
just now; wait, if you please, till I ask you. 
I have frittered away so much of my life 
that I am anxious to make up, so far as I 
can, for lost time. I’ll sail right in on the 
singing school; we have some good voices 
in the neighborhood and I shall utilize them. 
But, Dick, we both agree that every Chris- 
tian ought to consecrate his talents to God. 
Why don’t you turn evangelist with me as 
your singer? We might not equal Moody 
and Sankey, but we ought to form a pretty 
good team.” 

“ Not Sankey, nor any other singer, is your 
equal. Moody has a personality, a magnet- 
ism, a divine power that could never be 
mine. I should enjoy the work, Asaph, but 
I am still journeying toward Damascus.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When Saul of Tarsus set out for that 
ancient city to persecute the followers of the 
lowly Nazarene, he saw a great light while 
on the way. From that blinding radiance 
came a Voice which directed him what to 
do. Asaph, until that Voice speaks to me I 


Friends in Council 187 

shall remain right here and do the work 
my hands find to do.” 

“ Suppose it tells you to stay here? ” 

“ Then here I stay; the past few months 
have shown me I did the right thing when 
I declined all pulpit offers and contracted 
to teach school for one year; I have had 
glimmerings of light, but the Voice has not 
yet spoken.” 

“You do right to wait for it, Dick. 
There won’t be anything of the kind for 
me. At least, I don’t look for it, for I 
was never meant for a parson; but as long 
as I know how to use my talent, as you 
call it, it is at the service of Him who has 
done everything for me.” 

Dick, who had been slowly pacing to and 
fro, sat down at the table opposite his friend. 

“Jenkins, Ampere to-day illustrates what 
religion will do if it is given half a chance. 
The whole district is permeated with the 
spirit of the Saviour. Most of the im- 
poverished men whom we are helping will 
soon go back to work on the railway; those 
who still need aid will get it in full from 
those who delight to give; you hear of no 
wrangling or disputes among the people. 
Squire Redwood says he has known of 


The Worst Boy 


nothing of the kind for months; scandal and 
gossiping seem to have ceased.” 

“ Sort of a new Paradise,” observed the 
pleased Jenkins. 

“Not wholly so, for that will never be 
found in this world, but let me give you a 
pathetic proof of the spirit which reigns 
among my boys and girls. You know that 
Owen Palmer is the neighborhood drunkard; 
he is a sot who will not work, but is sup- 
ported by his wife, who does washing and 
receives charity from others. She is a 
sweet, patient, resigned, hopeless woman, 
who I have been told was considered, not so 
long ago, the most beautiful and winsome 
girl in the community.” 

“You’re right,” said Jenkins with a nod; 
“ I did my best to win her for a wife, 
but she turned me down and took Palmer; 
I couldn’t blame her at the time, for he 
was ten times handsomer than I, which isn’t 
saying much.” 

“ The couple have a little girl, Molly, 
eight years old, who has been coming to 
school, even in the depth of winter. She 
is pale, thoughtful, and poorly dressed, 
though of late she has been more warmly 
clothed, and wears strong shoes.” 


Friends in Council 189 

“ That’s due to Miss Hemingway, who 
has long paid particular attention to that 
miserable family.” 

“ Every boy and girl knows Molly’s 
affliction; her father is a drunkard; among 
so many pupils as mine, you would expect 
to find more than one thoughtless or cruel 
enough to taunt her with her disgrace. But 
nothing of the kind has ever taken place, 
for I have watched closely. More than 
that, she is a favorite with all. The girls 
press cake, pieces of pie, and delicacies upon 
her; the boys give her rides on their sleds; 
and I believe she is the only girl in school 
at whom Billy Brown hasn’t made one of 
his horrible faces. 

“Now this kindness, this tender regard for 
the little pale afflicted one, is explained by 
their trying to do as Jesus would do in their 
places.” 

“ It is wonderful,” was the thoughtful 
comment of Jenkins, “but what of little 
Molly herself?” 

“ That is the saddest part of it,” replied 
Dick with a sigh ; “ she is weak, and 
anaemic, and is wasting away. I believe she 
is in a decline and dying of a broken heart.” 

“ A few weeks ago I should have asked, 


190 The Worst Boy 

‘Why does God permit such a thing?’ But 
I feel now that there is some good though 
unfathomable reason for it. Dick, can’t 
something be done to save that sodden 
brute? Not that he deserves it, but for the 
sake of Molly the mother and Molly the 
child? Have you tried to reach him?” 

“Yes, but probably not in the right way. 
I have stopped him twice on the highway 
and appealed to and scored him. But what’s 
the use of protesting to a man when he is 
intoxicated? ” 

“ The difficulty is to find him when he 
isn’t under the influence of drink,” returned 
Jenkins. “ It strikes me that the only likely 
time is early in the morning when he is 
leaving his home. But then he would be on 
his way to Brother Jorson’s to quench his 
thirst and would be deaf to reason.” 

“ It is a painful problem and I don’t 
know what is the best to do,” Dick sighed, 
as he donned his overcoat and hat and bade 
his friend good-night. 

“Nor do I,” thought Jenkins. “I won- 
der whether we can get Palmer into some 
sanitarium or institution where the poison 
can be eliminated from his system, and he 
be given a new start in life.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A DRUNKARD’S home 

WHEN Reverend Herbert Hemingway 
was ordained as pastor of the Ampere 
church he was a young man whose sound 
Christian character and fine ability made 
him not only popular and useful in the com- 
munity, but gave him a widespread reputa- 
tion. His degree was conferred upon him 
before he was thirty years old. He received 
numerous offers from more prominent 
charges, but declined them all. 

“ Here is my field,” he replied, “ and so 
long as my people wish it, I shall stay with 
them.” 

The doctor was worldly wise. He in- 
tuitively saw where, when, and how prop- 
erty would rise in value. From his moderate 
salary he made careful investments, as the 
chances offered, and gradually became a 
wealthy man. He did not speculate, but 
bought real estate, and when he loaned 
money, did so at legal rates, refusing all 


192 


The Worst Boy 


bonuses, which is only one of the many 
form of usury, and never took advantage of 
a person’s financial distress. 

Among the half-dozen houses which the 
doctor built was a small cottage at one end 
of Bear Valley. He officiated at the mar- 
riage of Owen Palmer and Molly Durham, 
and after their modest honeymoon they 
moved into the pretty building, where they 
had lived ever since. For two or three 
years the rent was paid regularly. The 
prospects of no couple could have been 
fairer, and it did the heart of the pastor 
good to know their happiness. 

And then the evil days came. Owen took 
to drink; he neglected his work, became 
soured, and resented advice from every 
quarter. The doctor reasoned with him, 
and did all in his power to check his 
downward course. It is true that Palmer 
tried with might and main to break off his 
fatal habit, and sometimes succeeded for 
months at a time, only to fall again when 
the hopes of his wife and friends were at 
the highest. Finally the clergyman prom- 
ised: 

“ For every year that you remain sober 
I shall charge you no rent; whenever you 


A Drunkard’s Home 193 

give me your word of honor that you have 
not touched liquor for the previous twelve 
months, I shall hand you back the rent you 
have paid me, and shall do so all my life, 
with more pleasure than you can under- 
stand.” 

Only once did Palmer secure this “ re- 
bate.” Then he gave up the struggle. “ The 
infernal thirst has got me in its grip and 
there’s no use fighting against it.” 

The wife, who knew of the agreement, 
took her hard-earned money to the doctor 
herself, for she felt that she and her hus- 
band had no claim upon it. The good 
man returned every penny. 

“I cannot accept this; it has been too 
hardly earned by you. Do not bring me 
any more; perhaps it will be well not to 
tell Owen of it.” 

“ Suppose he asks me?” 

“ Speak the truth at all tknes,” replied 
the good man, as if shocked by the ques- 
tion ; “ deceit is not only wrong, but it never 
pays in the long run.” 

When little Molly came the day of re- 
generation seemed to have dawned at last. 
Her brightness and her winsomeness filled 
the hearts of the parents with delight. 


The Worst Boy 


194 

Owen was proud of her; no parent could 
have loved his child more than he loved 
the little one whose blue eyes, fair hair, 
and correct features were those of her 
mother in miniature. He fondled her, 
danced her on his knee, and tossed her in 
the air, while she crowed with happiness. 
And the mother, who had been growing 
wan and pale, caught the new joy. Color 
came back to her cheeks and her eyes again 
grew luminous with the glow that had cap- 
tured many a heart in the days when she was 
the most attractive young woman for many 
a mile around. 

But the wife could never forget that awful 
night when the sleet beat against the win- 
dow-panes and the wintry blast roared down 
the chimney. She had put Molly in her 
trundle-bed upstairs, and with no misgivings, 
sat beside the fire sewing. Owen had told 
her he would be late, because he had to meet 
a man at Ridgewood, and she never doubted 
but that he would return at the hour prom- 
ised. 

Suddenly she heard a shuffling step. Her 
heart stood still at the sound of the fum- 
bling hand on the door. She sprang up, but 
before she could lift the latch, it was snapped 


A Drunkard’s Home 195 

up from the outside, and Palmer lurched 
forward into a heap on the floor. 

Two years later every one had given up 
all hope of Owen Palmer’s reformation. 
There was a single exception, however; the 
thin, faded, patient wife still prayed and 
pleaded with her husband and hoped that 
his shackles would be broken. But the weary 
years dragged by and the poor wretch gave 
no sign. He ceased all pretense of work. 
Sometimes he was away over night, and then 
he lay on his bed stupefied. No one could 
remember seeing him sober at any time for 
months past. 

Where did he get the money with which 
to buy drink? From the wife, who, when 
she gave it, knew what the result would be. 
Alcohol affects temperaments differently. 
There are a few who become genial and 
good-natured; others are simply stupid, 
while the majority are brutalized. Owen 
Palmer belonged to the last-named class. 
The hour came when he struck his wife. 
The first time was because she hesitated to 
give him the pittance she had been paid 
for doing the washing of a neighbor, under 
the plea that it was needed to buy food. 
With insane fury, after the dazed woman 


The Worst Boy 


196 

had climbed to her feet and in a panic begged 
him not to kill her, he seized her by the 
throat and wrenched the few silver coins 
from her. 

Little Molly was sitting in her high-chair 
at the table and screamed at the dreadful 
sight. 

“Shut up!” he shouted to her, with up- 
raised hand, “ or I’ll serve you the same 
way! ” 

The mother rushed between. 

“ Strike me, Owen, but don’t harm her!” 
The little one gasped and tried to choke down 
the sobs that could not be wholly suppressed. 
The father with a single twinge of shame 
stamped out of the door, which he slammed 
shut, and was not seen again till the follow- 
ing night, when he staggered into the house 
and was helped to bed by the sorrowing 
wife. 

Molly Palmer grew thinner, more silent, 
and more reserved each day, but in her weak 
way she tried to shield her husband from the 
censure of others. 

“ It is not Owen,” she said many a time, 
“ but the strong drink that he has tried hard 
to overcome; he will succeed with the help 
of Heaven one of these days.” 


A Drunkard’s Home 197 

But the most pitiful fact of all was the 
effect of this state of things upon little 
Molly. After the father had repeatedly 
repulsed her she shrank away from him. 
Many a time her big, terrified eyes peered 
from behind the skirts of her mother or the 
stair door, as he staggered into the room 
swearing and shouting for his food. She 
clung to her mother and would have fled 
upstairs, had she not been held back by the 
childish belief that she could help shield 
her against the savage father. 

Molly was precocious beyond her years. 
Her natural brightness was intensified by 
suffering. For hours when her mother be- 
lieved her asleep, she lay on her bed staring 
into the darkness, thinking. If her mother 
stole into the room, candle in hand, to see 
whether she was awake, Molly closed her 
eyes until she tiptoed out again. 

She studied at home some with her mother, 
but by-and-by she heard of the new teacher, 
Mr. Chandler. Two girls stopped at her 
house and urged her to come to school. She 
begged permission of her mother, who hesi- 
tated, fearing that some of the thoughtless 
children would wound Molly’s feelings by 
slurs against her father; but finally she gave 


The Worst Boy 


198 

her consent, and the next morning Molly, 
with brighter eyes than usual, hied away 
to school. 

Dick Chandler was right when he told 
Asaph Jenkins of the loving-kindness shown 
the newcomer by the boys and girls. Never 
by word or look was she reminded of the 
shadow that darkened her hearthstone. She 
was petted by all, and Dick was also right 
when he said that this was due to the sweet 
Christian spirit that pervaded the people of 
Ampere district. It was the aftermath of 
the revival harvest. 

It will not be known until the last great 
day what good Doctor Hemingway effected 
during his labors in his Master’s vineyard. 
He never let his left hand know what his 
right did. Having notified Mrs. Palmer 
that whatever purchases she made at the 
store of Deacon Whitsett would be paid in 
full, and having compelled her to promise 
that she would not hesitate to buy what she 
and her family needed, he impressed upon 
the deacon that he must not question any 
purchase by her, but send the bill to him. 
Further, the storekeeper was warned not to 
let any other person know of the arrange- 
ment. Whereupon the deacon kept the 


A Drunkard’s Home 199 

woman promptly supplied, and as promptly 
sent the bill to the doctor, charging the 
highest rates he dared. 

Upon the return of Dorothy Hemingway 
from Vassar College, she gave special at- 
tention to the unfortunate Mrs. Palmer. It 
was necessary that her father should tell 
his daughter of the agreement with the 
deacon, but it was hidden from all others. 
Dorothy asked for the section of Bear Hol- 
low in tl}e distribution of charity, and did 
much to lighten the gloom of that stricken 
household. Once she tried to plead with 
the father when she found him at home, 
but was insultingly repulsed. Thereafter 
the two avoided each other. If he hap- 
pened to be in the house when she called, 
he went upstairs and stayed there until she 
left. 

From the day that little Molly entered 
the public school her decline in strength was 
marked. It may have been that the close 
contact with other girls, all of whom had 
happy homes and loving fathers, reacted 
upon her sensitive spirit and made her feel 
more deeply the wretchedness and degrada- 
tion of her own lot. She was a brave little 
one, however, and strove hard to cheer her 


200 


The Worst Boy 


mother and to be thankful for such blessings 
as came to her. But the little figure grew 
more pitifully thin, the deep blue eyes 
seemed to expand, the face was whiter and 
the body weaker. Unsuspected by her loving 
teacher, there were days when she was hardly 
able to sit upright. Dick was a believer in 
play. He gently insisted that Molly should 
go outdoors at recess and join in the sports 
of her playmates, and he forbade her to do 
any studying at home. She remained away 
from school occasionally, returning with the 
excuse that she was suffering from a head- 
ache or her mother needed her, and finally 
she was absent two days, and Dick went to 
see her. 

He found her seated in a big rocking- 
chair, with a pillow at her back. The father 
was upstairs asleep, and the mother was 
moving languidly about the room, her 
sunken cheeks showing traces of recent tears. 

Dick was startled by the changed appear- 
ance of the little girl, but he forced him- 
self to be cheerful as he sat down beside 
her chair and took the little hand in his own 
big palm. 

“ I’m not going to stand this,” he said, 
with an assumed sternness which deceived 


A Drunkard’s Home 201 

no one ; “ you don’t know how much we all 
miss you at school. It isn’t right; the boys 
and girls and I insist that you shall get 
strong and hurry back. Now, Molly,” he 
added, shaking his finger almost against her 
nose, “ I’ll let you stay home — well, say 
two days more — and then if I don’t find you 
playing tag when I go to school, I’m coming 
after you: what have you to say to that?” 

“I’ll come if I can, Mr. Chandler; I 
think you are a nice teacher and I want 
to go to school.” 

“ Now, you are trying to make me blush,” 
he protested, putting one hand over his face; 
“ if I am a good teacher, as you say, it is 
because I have such good scholars, but you 
are the very best, and if you stay away there’s 
no saying how horrid I may grow. So you 
see you mustn’t wait too long.” 

He patted the child’s golden head, and 
pausing on the threshold, playfully shook 
his finger at her again. 

“ Remember, if you are not on hand two 
days after to-morrow I’m coming after you, 
and you’ll feel awfully sorry!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MOLLY 

From Molly’s home Dick walked rapidly 
to that of Doctor Gardiner, who lived a 
mile away in the direction of Riggsville. 
The physician was a corpulent, gray-haired 
man in middle life, with much experience 
and more skill than is the rule among rural 
practitioners. He was one of the first 
acquaintances the teacher made upon com- 
ing to Ampere, and the two men liked each 
other. 

As Dick strode up the short lane to the 
handsome residence embowered among lux- 
uriant vegetation, he saw the gig, which was 
a familiar sight bobbing round the country 
behind the gray horse. It was in front of 
the house, with the animal between the 
shafts. The physician was evidently about 
to start on his round of calls, but met the 
young man at the door of his office and in- 
vited him inside. 

“ Consumption,” remarked the doctor, 


202 


Molly 


203 

looking with a laugh into the ruddy coun- 
tenance; “you have it bad.” 

“ Squire Redwood and his wife will agree 
to that, so far as their excellent food is 
concerned ; but, doctor, I have called in 
behalf of another.” 

“Naturally; how can I serve your 
patient? ” 

“ I have come direct from the home of 
Owen Palmer; I wish you to lose no time 
in going there, and giving your attention to 
his little girl.” 

“ I was there this forenoon, and it is the 
third call in as many days; Doctor Hem- 
ingway asked me to do so. What of your, 
visit? ” 

Dick gave the particulars. 

“ And so you warned Molly that if she 
didn’t return to school at the end of two 
days, you would go after her and bring her 
back? ” 

“ I did, as a little pleasantry.” 

“ Well, Mr. Chandler, I am afraid you 
will never call for her and you will never 
see her in your school again.” 

“ Why, doctor, you don’t mean ” 

“ She is past medical help; she won’t live 
at the most beyond a week; I shall not be 


204 The Worst Boy 

surprised if she passes away within half that 
time.” 

The teacher swallowed the lump in his 
throat. 

“ I never dreamed it was as bad as that! 
What is the matter with her? ” 

“ 1 Galloping consumption.’ ” 

“And she is only eight years old! I 
never heard of anything of the kind. Both 
her parents are naturally strong and rugged. 
What is the cause of it? ” 

“Well,” said the physician gravely; “if 
it is ever justifiable to speak of a broken 
heart, it is in the case of the Palmer child; 
she is sinking into a swift decline. You 
have not heard her cough and she may not 
do so to a great extent, but her vitality is 
fast ebbing. You ask for the cause: it is 
Owen Palmer. The child is grieving herself 
to death because of him.” 

“ Does he know it? ” 

Doctor Gardiner’s lip curled. 

“ Know of it! If I could have my way, 
I should give that sodden wretch a dose of 
strychnine; it ought to have been done six 
years ago. If he is ever sober for ten 
seconds, he cannot help seeing the wreck 
he has caused.” 


Molly 


205 

Dick sat silent for a minute, so shocked 
by what he had learned that he could think 
of nothing to say. 

“ The girl is unusually bright and I am 
interested in her, but the most I can do is 
to smooth her last hours. I shall call again 
this evening, and shall look after her to the 
end which, as I told you, is near at hand.” 

The doctor rose to his feet and began 
drawing on his gloves. Dick did the same. 

“ I wonder,” he said musingly, “ whether 
the mother has any thought that she is so 
soon to lose her child.” 

“ No, but Molly herself knows it.” 

“Why, doctor, what do you mean? Is 
it possible so young a person has actual 
knowledge of her impending death?” 

“There’s not a particle of doubt of it; 
I have seen it before; children as well as 
adults receive knowledge at such times which 
is denied those in health. It may astound 
you, Mr. Chandler, and perhaps you will 
not believe me, when I tell you that little 
Molly Palmer, at the moment she smiled 
over your threat of coming and taking her 
to school, knew of a certainty that you would 
never do so. She knows that her hours are 
numbered. She kept it from you, and spe- 


206 


The Worst Boy 


daily keeps it from her mother, because she 
wishes to put off the truth to the last moment.'” 

“ Since you speak with such positiveness, 
may I ask your reasons?” 

“ Well, there are signs which a medical 
man observes that are not visible to others; 
I saw them to-day, but in Molly’s case I 
went further. With the purpose of testing 
her, I said: 

“ ‘ You must go back to school next Mon- 
day.’ 

“ I first made sure that her mother was 
out of the room. The child glanced toward 
the door in that quick, alert way of hers, 
then gazed straight into my face, smiled, 
shook her head, and whispered: ‘Don’t tell 
mamma; you know!’” 

“ She said it because Another had whis- 
pered the solemn truth in her ear.” 

Doctor Gardiner smiled and made no 
reply. His faith in the glimpses which many 
gain of the Beyond, as they descend into the 
dark valley, was not as strong as that of the 
young man. The most that he would admit 
was, “ We don’t know.” 

At the evening meal, Dick told Squire 
Redwood and his wife of his call at the 
Palmer home and upon Doctor Gardiner, 


Molly 


207 

with the sorrowful news that the child would 
not live more than a week at the most. 

“It is a sad case,” replied the squire; 
“ I never knew one quite so sad.” 

“ Is the family in want of anything? ” 
asked the wife. 

“They are overwhelmed with kindness; 
nothing that their neighbors can do for them 
is left undone.” 

“ I saw Dorothy coming from Bear Hollow 
this afternoon,” said the squire; “she told 
me the child was very ill.” 

“ I shall call again to-morrow and see if 
I can do anything,” said Dick. 

“ To-morrow night after prayer-meeting 
your charges against Lott Jorson are to be 
acted upon by the official board and you 
should be present,” remarked the squire. 

“ I expect to be there. Will Jorson show 
up? ” 

“No fear of him; he is boiling over 
against you ; says you are a marplot and he’s 
going to show you up; you ain’t doing any- 
thing to ‘ uplift the community,’ but are 
pulling it down; when he gits through with 
you, you will sneak away from Ampere and 
never show yourself here again. Being as 
he’s the accused, he has been sarved with a 


208 


The Worst Boy 


copy of the charges, and of course has a 
right to be present and answer ’em. I’ve 
no idee what line he will take in his answer.” 

“ It makes small difference.” 

Dick decided to attend the meeting at the 
church the following evening. When the 
unpleasant business regarding Jorson was 
over, he would walk to Bear Hollow and 
call at the Palmer home. He learned 
through the day from Mrs. Redwood, who 
had been there, that little or no change was 
perceptible in Molly, except that she seemed 
a trifle more feverish, and in better spirits 
than would be supposed. 

Dick had just finished supper and was 
in the act of rising from the table, when 
Tige the dog was heard barking outside. 
The two men peered through the window. 

“ It’s Doctor Gardiner!” whispered Dick. 

“ It must be that he has come for you.” 

It was growing dark when the two walked 
out into the open space to meet the physician, 
whose gray nag was trotting toward them. 
Before making the turn that would bring 
the head of the horse the other way, the 
doctor drew rein. The couple walked out 
beside the carriage and anxiously leaned 
over to hear his words. 


Molly 


209 

“ Mr. Chandler, I was told to ask you 
to call at Palmer’s as soon as you can.” 

“ Any change, doctor? ” asked Dick 
anxiously. 

“ Little Molly won’t last through the 
night.” 

“ I shall not lose a minute,” replied Dick, 
darting into the house, donning his overcoat 
and cap, and hurrying out again. While 
he was absent, the doctor talked with the 
squire, then chirruped to the horse, which 
resumed its trot down the lane. 

His call that afternoon had told the skilled 
eye of the physician that the child’s life was 
near its close. As was his duty, he took the 
mother aside and gently broke the news. 
She accepted it more bravely than he had 
expected. 

“ I knew it was coming, but didn’t think 
it was so near,” she said faintly. 

“You had better make her bed below 
stairs; it will be easier for you. Where’s 
Owen? ” 

“ He went to Ridgewood this morning 
and is not yet back.” 

“ Small difference ; he has ruined your 
life and robbed you of your child.” 

“ Oh, doctor, don’t say that. He has 


210 


The Worst Boy 


striven hard to overcome his weakness and 
will yet do so.” 

The doctor checked the impatient reply 
that came to his lips, but it was because he 
did not wish to add to the woe of the poor 
woman. 

“ I can do nothing more,” he added, as 
he walked out to his gig; “ she is not suffer- 
ing pain: you will not have long to wait.” 

Doctor Gardiner had gone but a little 
way when he saw Palmer coming toward 
him. He was walking fast and quite steady. 
The doctor checked his horse abruptly and 
the man halted with a scared expression. 

“ I see you are sober,” was the comment 
of the physician; “where are you going?” 

“Home; I don’t feel right about little 
Molly.” 

“ How do you feel about yourself? Your 
child won’t live till morning. If you had 
been a man, instead of a cur, she would be 
well and strong this minute. It is fortunate 
for her that she will soon be beyond reach 
of your brutality.” 

“O my God!” wailed the father, throw- 
ing up his arms. 

But Doctor Gardiner paid no attention 
and drove on toward Squire Redwood’s. 


CHAPTER XIX 


GOING HOME 

The lower room in the Palmer cottage, 
connecting with the dining and sitting apart- 
ment, had always been the spare bedroom. 
The mother carried her daughter there, laid 
her on the soft mattress which had not been 
occupied for years, and tenderly tucked the 
sheets and blankets around her. They were 
clean and fragrant and the couch was as 
downy as any the invalid could wish. By 
leaving the communicating door open the 
warmth from the fire on the hearth was 
diffused within the sick-room, and the 
parent had the little one always under her 
eye while attending to her household work. 

The neighbors had been in and out, and 
Doctor Gardiner had been gone but a brief 
while when the pale mother seated herself 
beside the bed. Molly lay with her head 
slightly raised on the pillow. Her eyes 
were unusually large and dark. She reached 
out and fondled the hand that smoothed 


21 1 


212 


The Worst Boy 


away the hair from her hot forehead. She 
coughed violently once or twice, but the 
spasm quickly passed. It seemed to the 
mother that the fountain of her grief was 
dried up, for she could weep no more; but 
tears could have given no voice to the an- 
guish that filled her heart. 

Catching her eye, Molly smiled in that 
radiant way that was like the smile of an 
angel. She gently asked: 

“Did the doctor tell you, mamma?” 

“ Did he tell me what? ” the elder asked 
in turn, though in her shuddering dread she 
knew full well the meaning of the question. 

“ You know.” 

“ Did he say anything to you about it? ” 
parried the mother. 

“No; because he knew that I knew. Last 
night when you were sleeping, some one 
awoke me in my bed upstairs; I opened my 
eyes, and the room was all light and I saw 
a shining angel standing by the side of the 
bed. He bent over and said so gently, ‘ I 
shall come for you to-morrow evening; let 
your heart be at peace; I shall comfort 
mamma and papa.’ 

“ I didn’t tell Doctor Gardiner that, but 
it made me happy and content, though I 


Going Home 213 

feel bad that I am going to leave you and 
papa.” 

The little one reached up her arms and 
the mother clasped her convulsively to her 
breast. She could not speak, but once more 
tears came to her relief. 

“ Then, when the doctor was going to 
leave, I asked him to tell Mr. Chandler that 
I wanted to see him. He has been so kind 
to me that I want to bid him good-by, and 
then he will bid good-by for me to all the 
boys and girls in school, for they have all 
been as nice as they could be. Pretty soon 
papa will come.” 

“ I am afraid not,” replied the mother 
with the great fear in her heart; “ you know 
how it is with him.” 

“ I know how it has been ever since I 
was a baby, but last night when that angel 
was with me I seemed to feel that papa 
would be taken care of.” 

And Molly patted the mother’s hand, and 
would not let it go, adding, “ Yes, and papa 
will soon be here.” 

“ Do not set your heart on it, darling; I 
will tell him after you are gone.” 

Suddenly Molly sat up, with her head 
clear of the pillow. 


214 


The Worst Boy 


“Hark! didn’t I tell you!” she cried, her 
face aglow. 

At that instant the amazed mother heard 
the click of the gate; then there were hurry- 
ing footsteps over the walk; and some one 
sprang upon the porch and hastily pushed 
open the door. 

“I knew you would come, papa!” 

She held up her arms, and the mother 
set her chair slightly back to make room 
for the white-faced, terrified, and sober hus- 
band. He appeared not to see his wife, but 
striding forward, he gathered the little one 
in his arms, buried his head in the blankets 
which covered her lap, and moaned and 
sobbed in the abandonment of grief. The 
wife sat motionless and mute. 

When the stricken father regained partial 
control of himself he raised his head, his 
face shining with tears, and wailed: 

“Oh, Molly, you must not leave me; you 
shall not die! you must stay with me! I 
can’t live without you!” 

“ Why, papa, aren’t you ashamed of your- 
self?” she asked, with her bright reproving 
smile, as she reached up and brushed away 
the hair from his clammy brow: “I am 
going to leave you because the Saviour wants 


Going Home 


215 


me, and you are going to stay here with 
mamma and never, never drink any more. 
Isn’t that so, papa?” 

“Yes, oh, yes!” exclaimed the parent in 
the bewilderment of grief : “ I shall never 
forgive myself — I can never forgive my- 
self! — God ought to hurl me down into tor- 
ture, for I am the basest wretch that ever 
lived! Stay with me, Molly! Don’t leave 
me! ” 

And then with a prescience far beyond 
her years Molly continued to smile and 
brush the hair from her father’s forehead. 

The marvelous calm of the child affected 
the father, who raised his head, though he 
held her closer than before. 

“ So you have made up your mind to 
leave us, darling? ” he asked, as if the an- 
swer to the question rested wholly with the 
child. 

“ The Saviour told me last night that He 
wanted me, so it won’t do for me to hold 
back.” 

Just then a knock was heard on the outer 
door. The mother quietly opened it, and 
Dick Chandler stood revealed in the fire- 
light. 

“ Doctor Gardiner said Molly wished to 


2 1 6 The Worst Boy 

see me,” he explained, as he stepped within 
the room. 

“ Come with me,” she whispered. 

Walking softly into the bedroom, the 
teacher saw Molly sitting partly upright, 
one of the pillows behind her shoulders. 
The father, with unexpected self-control, 
moved his chair back to make room for 
him, nodding to the teacher, who gave him 
no heed. He saw only the dying child. 

“ Well, my little friend, I would go a 
good way to meet you; I got word from 
Doctor Gardiner, and I ran so fast I almost 
went away by your house before I could put 
on the brakes and stop. Wasn’t that a 
funny thing to do? ” 

And gently laughing, he patted the child’s 
burning cheek. 

“ I wanted you to come so I could say 
good-by,” smiled Molly; “I love you be- 
cause you have been so kind to me, and so 
have all the boys and girls at school. Mr. 
Chandler, do you know I was afraid all the 
time that some of them would say some- 
thing that would make me feel bad, but 
not one of them ever did. Wasn’t that 
splendid? They were so kind and thought- 
ful that I love them all.” 


Going Home 


217 

“ Who could say anything to hurt your 
feelings? I shall certainly give your mes- 
sage to the boys and girls and I shall never 
forget you. Let me tell you, Molly, that 
your sweet, gentle, patient Christian ways 
have done me and all the pupils more good 
than you ever dreamed of. You are only 
going a little ahead of us; by-and-by mamma 
and papa” (for the first time Dick seemed 
to see that drawn face at his elbow) “ and I 
and all the friends will follow you, and then 
won’t we have a happy time when we reach 
Heaven and all shake hands again!” 

The chief impressiveness of the words lay 
in the voice and the manner of their utter- 
ance. Dick laughed softly, and clapped 
his hands when he spoke of the final reunion. 
He seemed really gleeful over the prospect, 
and for the first time in many a day Molly 
laughed outright. 

Dick felt that the remaining minutes be- 
longed to the father and mother. No one 
else had the right to intrude upon them. 
He sprang lightly to his feet, as if he had 
forgotten himself. He had not removed 
his overcoat, and now with cap in hand, 
he stood by the bed and kissed the child on 
the forehead. 


2l8 


The Worst Boy 


He waved his hand as he passed out of 
the room and drew the door shut. He did 
this that the parents and child should be 
left to themselves. Friends were certain to 
come soon and he remained in the sitting- 
room that he might prevent them from in- 
truding. 

The wife and husband knew why the 
caller closed the door of the bedroom. So 
did Molly, who felt a thrill of gratitude 
for the thoughtful act. 

“Mamma,” she said; “I want you to sit 
on that side of the bed, and, papa, you are 
to sit on this side; you will be close to- 
gether and I shall be between you.” 

Silently the parents did as requested. 
Each suspected what was coming and was 
prepared for it. 

“Now you must do just as I tell you,” 
she added, with a warning shake of the 
head. 

“ You can ask us nothing that we won’t 
do,” replied the father brokenly, keeping 
back his grief by a supreme effort. 

“Take mamma’s hand.” 

The two palms met halfway across the 
bed and over the emaciated body. 

“Now, kiss each other.” 












YOU WILL NEVER DRINK ANY MORE, PAPA?” 




Going Home 


219 

For the first time in years the husband 
thus saluted his wife. 

“ I want you to promise me that you will 
never, never, never drink any more, papa.” 

Owen Palmer raised his free hand. 

11 1 swear ” 

“No; I don’t want you to swear; give 
me your promise — that is enough for God 
and me.” 

“ I give you my promise, darling; I have 
tried to stop before, but now I shall do it 
forever.” 

The light which glowed in the face of 
the dying child told her happiness more 
deeply than words could do. The parents 
were still controlling themselves by a 
strength that was taxed to the limit. 

“ Kiss me — quick! ” 

Both leaned over and pressed their lips 
in turn to those of the child. They did so 
several times. Then the mother raised her 
head, and looked down in the face which 
was like that of an angel. 

“She has gone!” she whispered. 

In the brief time that Dick Chandler 
waited in the dining-room, Mrs. Redwood 
and two other ladies silently entered. He 
whispered to each, and all sat down. From 


220 


The Worst Boy 


the room beyond only a confused murmur 
came. Dick could not distinguish any 
words, but by-and-by Mrs. Redwood arose, 
stepped to the door, and gently pushed it 
open for an inch or two. She softly closed 
it again and came back. 

“ It’s all over!” she whispered. 

The group talked together for a few 
minutes in hushed voices. The women de- 
cided to remain, and Dick, seeing nothing 
for him to do, w r ent out. 

It was so early in the evening that, in- 
stead of going home, he walked rapidly to 
Ampere church, arriving a few minutes 
previous to the close of the prayer-meeting. 
Doctor Hemingway had charge, and just 
before pronouncing the benediction, he 
asked the members of the official board to 
remain, as there was some business to come 
before it. The others slowly filed out, ex- 
changing greetings as they went. 

Almost the first person whom Dick 
noticed, as he walked part way up the aisle, 
was Lott Jorson, with a brazen smirk on his 
face. He was sitting on the other side of 
the room and about as far forward as him- 
self. 

When the janitor closed the doors there 


Going Home 


221 


were left the four members of the official 
board, Doctor Hemingway, chairman by 
virtue of his office, Dick Chandler, and Lott 
M. Jorson. Two of the officers were Squire 
Redwood and Elder Allen Q. Whitsett, 
who, having once been deacon, was always 
referred to by that title. 

“ My brethren,” said the grave doctor, 
“ I hold in my hand a document which the 
secretary will please read.” 

Thereupon that officer stood up and read 
in a clear voice the paper which Dick 
had written and submitted to the board. In 
substance it charged Lott M. Jorson with 
engaging in the selling of intoxicating 
drinks, thereby scandalizing his profession 
as a member of the church, and doing woe- 
ful injury to the community. The charges 
recited further that Jorson had been remon- 
strated with by the chairman of the board, 
Doctor Hemingway, by Squire Silas Red- 
wood, and by Richard Chandler. Despite 
these protests and pleadings, he continued 
his evil ways, showed no signs of repentance, 
and was thereby unfit to remain longer on 
the church roll of Ampere church. 

The moment the reading of the charges 
was finished, Dick arose. 


222 


The Worst Boy 


“ Mr. Chairman, if it is in order, I should 
like to make a statement.” 

“You have permission to do so,” said the 
doctor, inclining his head. 

Dick walked forward, so as to face every 
one in the room. Squire Redwood, who 
knew him better than any one present, saw 
he was laboring under great excitement and 
striving hard to control his emotions. But 
the voice which in the silence filled the 
room was even, deliberate, and without a 
tremor. 

“ I wish to explain the cause of my tardi- 
ness this evening. I came here from the 
home of Owen Palmer. I was asked to go 
there by his little daughter, a member of 
my school, and one of the sweetest children 
that ever lived. I stayed there until she 
died. Yes, my brethren, Molly Palmer has 
passed from earth to her heavenly home. 
She died of a broken heart, because her 
father was a drunkard. 

“ That father became a drunkard through 
the liquor he bought at the ‘Traveler’s 
Rest’; he told me so himself. Sweet Molly 
Palmer did not die; she was murdered, and 
there sits the murderer!” 

As Chandler rang out the last awful 


Going Home 


223 


words he leaned over and shook his finger 
at Landlord Jorson. For a full minute no 
one moved or seemed to breathe. Dick kept 
his feet and fixed his burning gaze upon 
the wretch. 

And then Lott Jorson, with his jaw hang- 
ing, his face crimson, and his bulky frame 
tottering, slowly climbed to his feet. 

“ Did — you — say — Owen Palmer’s child 
is dead?” he stammered. 

“I did, and you killed her!” thundered 
Dick. 

Without another word, the culprit fum- 
bled around until he found his hat. Then 
he turned about, staggered down the aisle, 
and lurched off in the darkness. 


CHAPTER XX 


STRAIGHT FROM THE SHOULDER 

No funeral in the Ampere church was 
more numerously attended than that of 
Molly Palmer. Not a member of the public 
school was absent, and it seemed as if every 
family, with less than half a dozen excep- 
tions, crowded into the old building. 

Two nights after the service, Owen 
Palmer knocked at the door of Squire Red- 
wood’s house, and was admitted with a word 
of welcome. 

“Mr. Chandler is expecting you; right 
upstairs; this way.” 

Dick met the caller at the door of his 
room and motioned him to a seat. Placing 
himself opposite, he said: 

“ I wish to have a talk with you, Owen ; 
it is going to be straight from the shoulder; 
are you ready for it? ” 

“The plainer the better; your words can’t 
be too hot for me; I wonder that decent 
people speak to me.” 


224 


Straight from the Shoulder 225 

“ It is because you have been decent for 
the past few days, but perhaps I am wrong 
— it is through respect for your wife and 
love for the little one that is gone.” 

Owen Palmer was dressed in a neat busi- 
ness suit furnished by Doctor Hemingway. 
His face showed signs of the suffering 
through which he had lately passed. He 
was nervous, restless, and weak — a condition 
due to the sudden cessation of stimulants. 

Dick determined to probe without mercy. 

“ I judge you haven’t drunk any liquor 
since Molly died?” 

“ Of course I haven’t,” was the half-in- 
dignant reply. 

“ When are you going to begin again?” 

“ Why, Mr. Chandler, what a question! 
You know of my promise to Molly, only a 
few minutes before she passed away.” 

“ Was that the first promise of the kind 
you ever made? ” 

“ No — but things were never so bad as 
when I gave my darling my solemn word 
never to drink again.” 

“You have signed the pledge; you have 
promised your suffering wife to quit; you 
have assured Doctor Hemingway and 
others that you had stopped for good. You 


226 


The Worst Boy 


did abstain for months, and once for a year; 
which proved that you can stop if you wish 
to; do you think you can hold out for a 
year this time?” 

“ I hope God will strike me down if I 
do not.” 

“Fudge! What does that amount to? 
It is the man who is the most vehement in 
his promises that is the first to break them.” 

“ I am sorry,” said the grieved caller, 
“ that you have lost all faith in me.” 

“ I haven’t said that. You are in earnest 
now, but I don’t know how long your resolu- 
tion will last; you thought you were in 
earnest before, but fell again and again. If 
you go about it the right way, you will win; 
if you don’t, you will fail. What method 
have you in mind?” 

“ Why, I have quit forever.” 

“ You have not, unless you follow a few 
common-sense rules. In the first place, you 
must pray to God with all your soul and 
strength that He will aid you.” 

“ I have done that many times since 
Molly’s death and shall keep it up.” 

“ Good! that is the first all-important step. 
Let me say I have little faith in many 
of the death-bed conversions or in lasting 


Straight from the Shoulder 227 

reformations caused by grief over the loss 
of some loved one. Time soothes our sor- 
rows, and the temptation returns and gains 
power. The impression made by the loss 
of your child will always retain a certain 
force, but it will not be enough. You have 
to have the grace of God in your heart, and 
when you have that — are thoroughly con- 
verted — you will find that you can exert your 
own will to some advantage. 

“ But you have got to do your part man- 
fully. 

“ No truer words were ever spoken than 
those which declare that God helps those 
who help themselves. ‘Trust in God and 
keep your powder dry,’ is another version 
of the truth. A man can’t sit down, fold 
his arms, and wait for his Creator to do the 
work which the Creator means he shall do 
himself. Do with your might what your 
hands find to do, and ask Heaven to bless 
your efforts. In one sense, you must tread 
the wine-press alone; God won’t save you 
unless you do all you can to save yourself. 

“ I heard John B. Gough, the matchless 
temperance orator, who had the delirium- 
tremens twice after he first signed the 
pledge, declare that the yearning for whisky, 


228 


The Worst Boy 


when once rooted within a person’s system, 
can never be destroyed. It will stay there 
until his last breath; but it can be put to 
sleep, and it will slumber until you awake 
it. If you use the simplest sense, you will 
be safe. 

“ Never go where liquor is sold; don’t 
keep it in your house; don’t listen to tempta- 
tion; don’t brood over your grief; keep 
busy; the best panacea for affliction is hard 
work for the body and mind. One truth 
I would burn into your soul, as if with a 
red-hot iron. Beware of the widely adver- 
tised ‘ bitters,’ which are guaranteed to cure 
indigestion, a * tired feeling,’ and about all 
the ills that flesh is heir to. The papers are 
filled with puffs of such nostrums; I have 
seen some of them in religious journals; the 
proprietors of these ‘ bitters ’ are becoming 
millionaires, because the stuff they sell at an 
enormous profit is made up mostly of poor 
whisky, with a few weak herbs added, par- 
tially to disguise the fact. 

“ The proprietor of a large drug store in 
New York told me he stopped selling all the 
brands of 1 bitters,’ when he discovered he 
was making drunkards of his customers. 
Good old church members who hadn’t 


Straight from the Shoulder 229 

touched a drop of spirits for years were 
buying the 1 bitters/ praising them, and 
marching steadily down to a drunkard’s 
grave. Many who had reformed were 
ruined by this insidious guise of poison. 
Some of the most popular of these 1 bitters ’ 
have been analyzed and found to contain 
fifty, sixty, and more per cent, of alcohol. 
Regarding all of them, ‘ touch not, taste not, 
handle not,’ the accursed thing. 

“ Make up your mind that you are going 
to have a hard fight, but understand, too, 
that, with God’s help, you are going to 
win. Physically you are in wretched form; 
for years you have been a loafer and a vaga- 
bond; your system is sodden with whisky; 
you would have died long ago but for your 
wife and her friends.” 

“ I know it,” said Palmer in a choking 
voice; “ and I ought to have died. I blamed 
Lott Jorson for selling me whisky before 
I had formed a taste for it, but it was my 
fault; he didn’t compel me to drink, and I 
knew it was wrong.” 

“You take a sensible view of the matter. 
Landlord Jorson will sell no more whisky 
as a member of Ampere church; he was 
cast out the other night, as he ought to have 


230 


The Worst Boy 


been cast out years ago, but that has nothing 
to do with the present business. 

“ I warned you against tasting any of the 
so-called ‘ bitters,’ but in making this fight 
for life you have the right and it is your 
duty to use all the helps within reach. It 
might strengthen you to spend a few months 
in some of the sanitariums, but none of them 
of itself will cure you. Scores of such 
patients go back to drinking again. 

“ Here is a remedy,” holding up a bottle, 
“ the result of a careful and long-continued 
experimentation by a scientific physician, 
which will act as a tonic to help build up 
your wasted forces, and as an antidote to the 
liquor thirst. It has been helpful to many. 
I had the prescription filled at the Ridge- 
wood drug-store, and you can get it renewed. 
With that and the help of God and your own 
determination you will conquer.” 

As the grateful Palmer rose from his 
chair, the teacher laid his hand on his 
shoulder and said with deep earnestness: 

“ Remember what I told you a few min- 
utes ago: all that you can do is to put the 
tiger in your veins to sleep: don’t wake it! ” 

Dick walked downstairs with his guest. 
Aunty Redwood had retired and the squire 


Straight from the Shoulder 231 

sat by the table reading his Bible. He stood 
up and took the hand of Palmer, who hesi- 
tated by the door. 

“ Owen, you don’t know how pleased 
and thankful I feel; you have started on the 
right way and you need never stumble. I 
understand that you intend to ask admis- 
sion to the church at the next communion? ” 

“Yes,” was the humble reply; “I shall 
be the most unworthy of all the candidates, 
but with the help of God I shall never turn 
back.” 

“Trust Him fully and do your own duty; 
keep away from temptation.” 

“ That is what Mr. Chandler told me.” 

Palmer again warmly shook hands with 
these friends, and passed out of the door. 
He had taken his last drop of liquor. 


CHAPTER XXI 


LOTT J ORSON 

TlGE, Squire Redwood’s dog, had been 
allowed to come into the house, and now 
lay in front of the fire, with eyes closed and 
nose between his outstretched paws. Sud- 
denly he raised his head and pricked up 
his ears. 

“ It is late, but some one is coming up 
the lane,” said the squire, and the two men 
listened. 

Meanwhile, Owen Palmer had passed 
out the gate and down the lane, shaded on 
both sides with rows of poplars. There was 
no moon, but the myriads of stars gleamed 
in the cold, clear sky. Palmer saw a 
shadowy form coming toward him from the 
main road, but as the two drew nearer the 
stranger shifted to the shadows under the 
trees, where only a vague sight of him was 
given as the two came opposite. 

“Good-evening!” called Owen in a 
cheery voice. 

232 


Lott Jorson 233 

“ Good-evening,” was the mumbled re- 
sponse. 

These two had been old acquaintances for 
years, and yet neither recognized the voice 
of the other, despite the fact that a per- 
son’s voice lingers longer in one’s memory 
than anything else. Owen Palmer stepped 
off with the elastic, confident tread of hope. 
The other man shuffled and shambled like 
one in despair, whose trembling strength 
barely held him up. He was on his way to 
see Squire Redwood and Dick Chandler. 
No wonder neither suspected the identity 
of the other. 

By-and-by the listeners heard the opening 
and closing of the gate and the unsteady 
steps. Tige slouched toward the door and 
growled, but a word from his master caused 
him to lie down again. It being certain 
that some one was coming, the squire opened 
the door, that the light might aid the caller 
as it had aided Dick months before. 

The next moment the two were shocked. 
Lott Jorson, pale, haggard, and tottering 
with weakness, stumbled into the room, and 
dropped into the nearest chair without 
uttering a word. The squire closed the door 
against the nipping air, and looked down 


234 The Worst Boy 

at the man. His eyes were staring and 
bloodshot and he seemed dazed. 

“ What is the matter with you, Lott? ” 
asked the old man. Dick suspected he had 
been drinking hard and was on the verge 
of delirium. He stood ready to protect the 
squire, should it become necessary. 

“ It ain’t that,” he said in a rasping, 
husky voice, reading their thoughts; “I 
haven’t drank a drop for days; I believe I’m 
dying.” 

At the words and looks of the poor 
wretch, the hearts of Dick and the squire 
were filled with pity. They had felt hardly 
toward the landlord of the “Traveler’s 
Rest,” and thought he ought to be punished, 
but all that was changed now. Dick stepped 
in front of him and said cheerily: 

“Pull yourself together, man!” 

Jorson sat panting and looking at the two 
in front of him, as if he failed to under- 
stand the words. 

“ Why, Lott, what is the matter with 
you?” asked Squire Redwood; “you are 
with friends.” 

Despite Jorson’s declaration that he had 
not been drinking, both the squire and Dick 
doubted its truth. He was in a state of 


Lott Jorson 235 

collapse. They waited a minute or two, 
while he partially succeeded in doing what 
Dick had urged him to do — pulled himself 
together. 

“You are not dying any more than we 
are,” said the younger man, “ but you are in 
pretty bad shape. What brought you here 
to-night? ” 

The miserable man now found his tongue. 
Fixing his gaze upon each in turn, he said 
huskily, between gasps and pants, 

“I have sinned away the day of grace! 
I am lost — lost — lost!” 

“ You have no right to talk that way,” 
replied the squire with stern sympathy. 
“ What have you done that makes you feel 
so bad?” 

“Yes; I murdered little Molly Palmer, as 
you said, Mr. Chandler; I have ruined her 
father; I have ruined others; and I am sink- 
ing into perdition.” 

“ No doubt you have done much evil,” 
said Dick, “ but Owen Palmer is safe from 
further harm; he left here a few minutes 
ago; he will never drink spirits again.” 

“ He must have been the man I met in 
the lane, but I didn’t know his voice.” 

“ What has brought about this convic- 


The Worst Boy 


236 

tion, Mr. Jorson?” asked Dick, who like 
the squire now seated himself in front of the 
sufferer. 

“ It was them words you said the other 
night after prayer-meeting; I thought I 
could get back at you, but something gripped 
my heart and a Voice thundered in my 
ears, ‘The words are true; you are a mur- 
derer!’ I staggered out of church and 
hardly know how I got home. Two men 
sat by the fire in the bar-room; I drove them 
out and locked the door; then I dropped 
on my knees and began praying, but God 
wouldn’t listen to me! My wife upstairs 
heard me and came down scared almost 
out of her senses. She prayed with me, but 
I told her it was no use. Then she said, 
‘ Lott, if you feel so bad about selling 
whisky, as I have felt ever since we were 
married, why don’t you stop it? ’ ‘I will 
from this minute,’ I replied, bounding to 
my feet. 

“But that wasn’t enough; I smashed 
every bottle of liquor in the bar; then I 
went down cellar and opened the spigots 
in the casks there, and let out the last drop; 
when I was through, not a pint of the stuff 
was left in the tavern.” 


Lott Jorson 237 

“Good!” exclaimed Dick; “that proves 
you were in earnest. How did you feel 
after doing that? ” 

“A little better; I walked the floor all 
night; my wife begged me to come to bed, 
but there was no sleep for me; every few 
minutes, I dropped on my knees, and when 
I wasn’t doing that I prayed as I walked. 
I kept it up till the sun was shining through 
the windows; then I was so tired out I 
tumbled onto the bed and slept a little while, 
but such awful dreams as I had! It was 
almost worse than being awake! 

“ I didn’t open the tavern the next day, 
nor during any day since. Folks thought 
it was on account of the funeral of Palmer’s 
little girl, but so far as selling liquor is con- 
cerned, I am through.” 

“You have done the right thing, Mr. 
Jorson.” 

“ But I can’t undo all the evil I have 
done!” wailed the sufferer; “I can never, 
never do that; I am doomed!” 

“ God never turns away from the truly 
penitent,” said the squire; “let us kneel, 
and I will beg Him to hear you.” 

And then the three poured out their pray- 
ers. Jorson moaned and writhed in agony 


The Worst Boy 


238 

of spirit. When the petition was finished 
the squire said: “ Now, Dick!” 

And he prayed from the depths of his 
heart. He reminded the Heavenly Father 
that He had said He would hear whoever 
called upon Him with sincere penitence of 
heart, and he begged Him to answer the 
prayer of the man who thus repented so 
truly of his sins. 

“Now, Lott!” gently added the squire. 

The man stumbled and halted and jum- 
bled his words, but the others helped him 
by interjecting pleas of their own. Finally 
the three rose from their knees and seated 
themselves. 

“ I feel better,” said Jorson, with sur- 
prising calmness; “I believe God does an- 
swer prayer.” 

“ Why, my dear brother, He always does 
— not in every instance as we wish Him to 
answer, but in the best way for us. You 
are deeply sorry for your sins; they have 
been many and He has made you realize 
them to their full extent. True, you cannot 
undo the evil you have done, nor can we 
recall the angry word, the impure thought 
or the wicked act; but we can rid our hearts 
of all of these, and henceforward lead clean, 


Lott Jorson 239 

pure, and Christian lives. That is what you 
mean to do? ” 

“ God being my helper, I will!” replied 
Jorson with a fervency that thrilled his 
listeners; “tell me what I ought to do.” 

“Just what you have said you mean to 
do! Never sell or give another glass of in- 
toxicants to any person; sign the pledge, and 
set a good example by living as close to 
your Saviour every day as you can. Surely 
you can do much to atone for the past.” 

When, a half-hour later, Lott Jorson bade 
his friends good night, he walked down the 
lane with a stride which resembled that of 
the man whom he met some time before. 
There could never be any question over the 
sincerity of the landlord’s conversion. He 
proved it by his deeds. The “Traveler’s 
Rest ” was opened again, but never during 
Jorson’s lifetime was a glass of liquor sold 
over the bar. Temperance drinks could be 
procured, but nothing else. 

The fight in the legislature over the local 
option bill resulted in defeat for the tem- 
perance people. The brewers and liquor 
men used too much money. More than one 
lawmaker, who went to the capitol deeply 
in debt, returned home in the spring, paid 


The Worst Boy 


240 

off the mortgage on his farm or house, 
bought a piano, and in one or two instances, 
was able to send his wife and daughters on 
a trip to Europe. 

But the good folks were undismayed, and 
renewed the battle year after year, and by- 
and-by won their victory. The day came 
when local option was carried and the State 
was a “ white ” one. Lott Jorson applied for 
a renewal of his license and got it. He did 
so on the suggestion of Squire Redwood, 
Dick Chandler, and Asaph Jenkins, who 
insisted upon paying the fee. 

“ That will shut off any other applicant 
for the present,” said Jenkins, “ though some 
fool may get another next year, but, if so, 
we’ll cook his goose for him.” 

“How?” asked Dick. 

“We’ll boycott him; after he has stood 
that a few months, I’ll go around, and offer 
to bear the expense of moving him and his 
family to the poorhouse; he’ll thank me and 
be glad to accept the offer.” 

It was an impressive sight, when, at the 
next communion, among the twenty-odd 
candidates who went forward, were Owen 
Palmer and Lott M. Jorson. The sight 
melted many to tears, and the aged pastor 


Lott Jorson 241 

nearly broke down during the solemn serv- 
ices. 

Dick Chandler held many consultations 
with Doctor Hemingway, Asaph Jenkins, 
Squire Redwood, and the daughter of the 
venerable clergyman. The burden of their 
anxiety was how to hold the Ampere people 
up to the spiritual plane to which they had 
been lifted by the unprecedented revival. 
The conclusion was that it must be done 
largely by meeting the needs of both sexes 
and by interesting the men and boys. 
Preaching and appeals were not sufficient; 
innocent, if not instructive, entertainments 
must be furnished: there must be safe out- 
lets for the bubbling energy of the youths. 
The debating school had already grown 
popular: men who had not spoken in public 
eagerly set forth their views and were prone 
to continue their arguments after adjourn- 
ment. Buck Smith several times opened the 
debate and proved himself a foeman worthy 
of the steel of men more than double his 
age. Even Ike Flynn became one of the 
verbal gladiators and now and then carried 
off the honors. 

The singing school, under the charge of 
Asaph Jenkins, with his marvelous voice and 


The Worst Boy 


242 

sunny good nature, drew attendants from 
beyond the limits of the Ampere district. 
His ready wit would crop out at the most 
unexpected times. One evening Dick 
Chandler sang bass in a quartette and did 
it well. 

“Much obliged,” commented Jenkins 
without the trace of his one-sided smile; 
“ but I shall be more obliged if next time, 
Mr. Chandler, you try to sing bass to the 
piece the other three are singing.” 

“ I’ll settle with you after school,” whis- 
pered Dick warningly. 

Young Chandler’s observation and ex- 
perience in teaching were of vast help in 
his conduct of the Sunday-school. Regard- 
ing it as the nursery of the church, he could 
not help seeing that in many cases it fell 
far short of its mission, or even proved of 
no real benefit to the children. He observed 
that boys and girls at the age of fifteen or 
sixteen began to lost their interest, and un- 
less they were led into the spiritual realm, 
drifted away and were lost to the school 
and church. He felt that to draw the school 
to the spiritual realm it should be pervaded 
at all times by a spiritual atmosphere; and 
that the superintendent, as the head, must 


Lott Jorson 243 

radiate it; it must glow in his face, be heard 
in his voice, in the selection of topics, in his 
comments thereon, in his everyday life, 
and in his solicitude for the welfare of his 
pupils. 

The teachers must be the same as he, 
Chandler decided. One who is not a pro- 
fessing Christian in charge of a class, per- 
functorily directing them in the better way, 
and yet refusing to go that way himself, is 
always a sight to make angels weep. On the 
other hand, he understood that there are 
good persons who undertake to teach in the 
Sunday-school from a sense of duty. They 
deserve respect, but are ignorant, and know 
little or nothing of child-nature. Such in- 
structors wind their arms around the neck 
of a boy and hold it there through most of 
the lesson. Nothing can be more repulsive 
to a healthy red-blooded lad than such fon- 
dling, especially when his classmates wink at 
him as he disgustedly peers out from under 
the teacher’s encircling arm. 

Many another teacher, when a lad 
whispers, solemnly reaches out his hand and 
pinches his ear, thereby rousing passionate 
anger. Still another may make himself 
popular with his boys by spending the time 


The Worst Boy 


244 

in discussing the merits of the respective 
presidential candidates or relating stories. 

The literary and social features have their 
place, but that is always secondary to the 
spiritual aim of the instruction. Little 
children should be taught the simplest ele- 
ments of Christianity as given in the cate- 
chism. The youngest understanding can 
grasp the beauty and duty of truthfulness, 
obedience, and the Golden Rule. No ex- 
planation of the doctrines should be at- 
tempted during such tender years. Bible 
incidents, and anecdotes with a distinct 
spiritual drift may be used tactfully. Of 
late years object teaching has been made 
helpful. After the age of ten, children 
should be taught the nature of sin, the fact 
that they are sinners, and the necessity of 
the great change in their natures. Being 
“ born again ” must be clearly explained to 
them — otherwise their ideas will be hope- 
lessly confused. 

The danger period for boys and girls is, 
perhaps, between the ages of fifteen and 
eighteen years. It is at that critical time 
that they are apt to be led away from spirit- 
ual things by social attractions, by the love 
of worldly amusements, and by the exuber- 


245 


Lott Jorson 

ant energy natural to youths on the thresh- 
old of manhood and womanhood. Too 
often the methods adopted to retain these are 
lectures, music, and entertainments, without 
a spark of spirituality. These have their 
use, but at all times the one dominant, all- 
controlling, never-swerving aim should be 
spirituality. 


CHAPTER XXII 


RIVALS 

AFTER a while Dick found a fly in the 
ointment. Nothing could subdue or lessen 
the sweet consciousness of having added to 
the talent which his Master had given him. 
The fact that he saw the garnering of the 
harvest, that the marvelous work was going 
on, was a happiness to which nothing else 
in the world can be worthy of comparison. 

None the less it is part of the discipline 
and training of good men that they shall 
meet with the vexations that are the com- 
mon lot of mortals. What credit belongs 
to a person for being good, when it is per- 
fectly easy for him to be so? It is he who 
fights, who when bowled over clambers to 
his feet and is at it again, who never says 
die, but struggles on to the end — it is he who 
wins the crown. 

One day in early spring when Dick 
strolled out to the parsonage to take dinner 
with Doctor Hemingway and his daughter, 

246 


Rivals 


247 

he met a stranger, who had gone thither 
to remain over Sunday. He was an effemi- 
nate-looking young man, with a budding 
mustache, and was faultlessly dressed. He 
wore eyeglasses, dandled a thin, willowy 
gold-headed cane, and had a vapid expres- 
sion, as if bored by everything with which 
he came in contact. 

Dorothy introduced him as Clarence 
Dubois of New York. She had met him 
while a student at Vassar. In truth, she and 
Dubois’s sister were fond of each other, 
which fact explains the acquaintanceship 
of the young man with the daughter of 
Doctor Hemingway. 

Dick tried to like the fellow for his 
friend’s sake, but somehow or other, as the 
evening advanced, his repugnance deep- 
ened. Dubois had a tenor voice and sang 
well; he possessed some gifts in the way of 
conversation, but clearly he was not to be 
compared mentally with Dorothy Heming- 
way. She was vastly his superior. 

“ It is plain that she likes him,” mused 
Dick, while walking homeward that even- 
ing. “ He is good-looking, fashionably 
dressed, and abounds with the small talk 
which pleases the best of girls. There is 


The Worst Boy 


248 

no mistake about his being in love with 
her; I saw that at once; no doubt they are 
engaged. But what if they are?” Dick 
suddenly demanded of himself — “ it’s none 
of my business.” 

Resolving to think no more about it, he 
struck into a vigorous pace, only soon to 
lag and revert to the theme which he could 
not drive away. 

“ He snubbed me once or twice, but I 
don’t mind that. I can afford to ignore 
such trifles, but there is one thing about 
young women which I can’t understand. 

“Now and then a bright, good, intellect- 
ual woman will marry a young man who is 
far below her mentally, morally, and in 
every worthy attribute. 

“Dorothy can make no greater mistake; 
it will mar her whole life; I do not under- 
stand why her father permits it. But she 
is old enough to make her own choice, and 
anyway it’s none of my business,” repeated 
Dick, striding off again with a quickened 
pace. 

There had been a sharp rivalry for five 
or six years between the ball nines of Am- 
pere and Ridgewood, the adjoining district. 
They generally played three games each 


Rivals 


249 

season, the victory swinging from one side 
to the other. The Ridgewoods won all three 
games during the summer preceding the 
coming of the new teacher, and boasted that 
they would repeat the humiliating defeat the 
next season. 

Dick Chandler was chosen captain of the 
Amperes, and as soon as the weather war- 
ranted, the players began practice. Since 
he had no bad habits and never neglected 
exercise, he was in as good condition as at the 
opening of work at college, when he helped 
win the intercollegiate championship. 

Buck Smith was the pitcher and Ike 
Flynn the catcher, the other positions being 
filled by husky young men whose skill 
pleased Captain Dick. He assumed his old 
place at third base, where he showed how 
to snatch up balls and line them across the 
diamond. At the same time his coolness, 
his encouraging words, and his hopefulness 
inspired the other players. He gave them 
points in batting, in running bases, in instant 
catching of signals, in bunting, in double 
plays, in alertness, and indeed in all the 
requirements of the game. He proved his 
versatility by taking his place behind the 
bat and throwing to second so as to head 


The Worst Boy 


250 

off a runner trying to steal the base. He 
particularly impressed upon Ike Flynn the 
advantage of signaling to the pitcher in 
such a way that no opponent could possibly 
detect his meaning, when Buck was ordered 
to throw to any one of the bases to catch an 
opponent playing too far off. 

At the same time he told the basemen 
always to be on the watch to take such a 
throw, for a failure was sure to prove dis- 
astrous. Then Dick strove to instruct the 
outfielders how to gauge the flight of a ball 
the instant it was struck — when to dance 
backward, when to turn and run with the 
sphere, and when to dash in and get it, either 
on the fly, or by trapping in time to throw 
to a base or to the plate. 

The result of this excellent instruction 
was that when the two nines clashed on the 
Ampere grounds the Ridgewoods were de- 
feated by a score of eight to three. Neither 
club had ever seen such playing as that of 
the Ampere third baseman. Not only did 
he capture the most difficult grounders that 
came anywhere near him, but he shot them, 
when necessary, into the capacious mitt of 
the first baseman, who never had to step 
off the bag to stop the unerring throws. He 


Rivals 


251 

caught two twisting fouls far back of third, 
one so difficult that he made a double play 
with the help of the Ampere man on second. 

When he, as leading batsman, took his 
position at the plate, he struck at the first 
ball pitched, and drove it so far over the 
heads of the fielders that he trotted leisurely 
around the bases. The second time up he 
made a three-bagger, after which the op- 
posing pitcher showed his sense by passing 
him to his base. The first time he did this, 
Dick immediately stole second. Undue 
confidence led him to try for third, only to 
be nipped by a lightning-like throw of the 
Ridgewood catcher. 

The Ampere boys were naturally in high 
spirits when the game ended with a decisive 
victory for their side. The Ridgewoods 
were chagrined, and had little to say, but 
it was clear they had no thought of giving 
up the fight. 

“You did well, boys,” said Dick, with a 
glowing face, when he and his players came 
together after the game; “you never pitched 
better, Buck; and, Ike, you didn’t have a 
passed ball; not only that, but you nailed 
every one who tried to steal second.” 

“Pshaw! what’s the use of talking?” re- 


The Worst Boy 


252 

plied Buck, blushing under the praise; “ you 
won the game for us.” 

“That’s so,” added the first baseman; 
“ all I had to do was to stand like a wooden 
Indian and close my mitts when the ball 
hit ’em.” 

“ One man can’t play a whole game of 
ball,” replied Dick. 

“ But he can do a mighty lot toward it,” 
said the center fielder; “you did more than 
all the others in keeping the balls from get- 
ting out to us.” 

“Now, Larry,” said Dick reprovingly; 
“ how about that skyscraper that you danced 
back and took with one hand and had to 
make a big jump to do it? ” 

“Yes, and the very next one got away 
from me.” 

“ We are all liable to slips,” replied 
Dick; “ the best players in the league have 
their off days.” 

“ I don’t believe you ever had one,” 
chimed in the right fielder, a chubby young- 
ster, not more than five feet high. 

“ I have, more than once, and will have 
them again; there’s only one rule and that 
is to keep cool, hold both eyes open, and 
do your best.” 


Rivals 


253 

A depressing disappointment attended the 
next game, which was played on the Ridge- 
wood grounds. The schedule had been 
agreed to by both nines at the opening of 
the season, the only change possible being 
that due to bad weather. It was about this 
time that Dick made an engagement to 
preach for an old college friend who lived 
so far off that the Ampere preacher had to 
board the train at Riggsville at four o’clock 
Saturday afternoon and leave at daylight 
Monday morning in order to get back. Not 
until a week afterward did he discover to 
his dismay that the Saturday on which he 
would have to go was the one set for the 
second game. He would have asked his 
friend to name another Sunday, had he not 
known that he was called to the bedside of 
his mother, who lay critically ill. In those 
circumstances Dick could not appeal to him. 
All that remained was to request the Ridge- 
woods to postpone the game. In doing this, 
Dick was foolish enough to give the true 
reason: a previous engagement which would 
take him away from Ampere on that day. 
Had he not said this, the opponents might 
have consented, but they chuckled when 
they learned that it was the terrible third 


The Worst Boy 


254 

baseman who would be absent. Postpone 
the game? Well, I guess not! 

Accordingly it was played with another 
man on third, and the Amperes were de- 
feated; in fact, they were blanked, while 
the Ridgewoods piled up eleven runs, and 
were jubilant. 

“ Fetch on your parson, and we’ll trim 
him!” boasted the captain of the Ridge- 
woods to the visiting team. 

Finally the momentous date came when 
the deciding game was to be played — the 
one which, unless it proved a tie, would 
settle the championship. 

It was one of the loveliest days in early 
summer. The sky was clear, the air balmy, 
and the temperature perfect. On that Sat- 
urday the number of ball games contested 
throughout the country was beyond compu- 
tation. The battle between the Amperes 
and Ridgewoods was sure to prove a royal 
one. It may be said that substantially all 
of the people in both districts wended their 
way to the grounds an hour before the time 
set for the game. 

The Ampere people showed their appre- 
ciation of the important occasion by holding 
a picnic for the children in the leafy woods, 


Rivals 


255 

a short distance from the ball grounds. On 
the western side of the stretch of forest was 
a lake or pond, twenty acres in extent, with 
a number of rowboats and sailboats moored 
at the shore. The prettiest rowboat of all was 
the “ Dorothy ” and belonged to the daugh- 
ter of Doctor Hemingway. She and Dick 
had taken turns several times in swinging 
the oars, she displaying a skill that stirred 
his admiration. 

Scores of children, with their parents and 
friends, gathered in the cool woods on this 
bright sunshiny forenoon, where the happy 
hours were spent in playing all sorts of 
games. Dick went out with the members 
of the nine to the grounds on the other 
side of the wood for two hours’ practice. 
When that time passed the boys wished to 
keep it up. 

“ No,” said the captain, “ you are liable 
to overdo it; you mustn’t become stale; you 
are on edge now and will be fresh this 
afternoon. Don’t bat another ball, or run, 
unless you feel like entering a foot-race at 
the picnic.” 

Thither went all the players, and soon 
proved that though most of them were young 
men, they were as much boys as ever, and 


The Worst Boy 


256 

the friskiest one of them all was Dick Chand- 
ler. He ran races with the girls, and always 
managed to stumble or lag so as to get 
beaten, though nothing of the kind happened 
when a man was his competitor; he swung 
the youngsters and played their games, made 
them shriek by his funny antics, and, in fact, 
acted so uproariously that two of the old 
maiden ladies gave it as their opinion that 
it was “ scandilaceous.” 

And once more Dick came upon the fly 
in the ointment. He had promised to lunch 
with Doctor Hemingway and Dorothy, un- 
der the shade of a big oak, at the edge of 
the grounds^ but when he greeted them, 
there was Clarence Dubois acting as the 
escort of the young woman. He had carried 
her parasol when they were in the sunlight, 
but not needing it in the wood, he was using 
it in place of his dainty cane. His new 
straw hat was encircled by a silken band 
with blue and white stripes; the rim of his 
golden eyeglasses seemed to be newly pol- 
ished; his white vest was spotless, as were 
the blue serge coat and trousers, the fancy 
necktie, the striped silk stockings, and the 
patent leather shoes. 

“Aw, Chandler, how do you do?” he 


Rivals 


257 

said languidly, as Dick came up. “ Hope 
you’re well.” 

“ Never felt better, thank you; you don’t 
look much like an invalid yourself. I hope 
you will enjoy the picnic to-day. You know 
we are to have a game of ball.” 

“Aw, I heard something of the kind; I 
don’t feel any interest in seeing a lot of 
young men wearing themselves out hitting 
a ball, trying to catch it, and making an 
exhibition of themselves. Miss Dorothy 
and I will stay with the picnic folks and 
take a boat ride this afternoon.” 

“ Why, Mr. Dubois, I wouldn’t miss the 
ball game for anything,” she protested with 
sparkling eyes. 

“Aw, well; I’m ready to sacrifice myself 
for the benefit of my friends,” he replied 
with a captivating smile, as he nibbled the 
end of the parasol handle. 

“ I am sure you will enjoy it,” added the 
venerable doctor, from where he was seated 
on the little mound at the foot of the oak; 
“for me it is like renewing my youth; I’m 
a friend of athletic sports, though we didn’t 
have much of them when I was in college.” 

Dubois shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Aw, I think there is some sense in boat- 


The Worst Boy 


258 

ing; I never miss the races between Har- 
vard and Yale; and I can enjoy the foot- 
ball contests, for there’s some sense in them, 
but baseball always struck me as vulgaw.” 

“ Every one to his taste,” commented 
Dick; “I hope you won’t cheer the Ridge- 
woods too hard, for it might unnerve us.” 

“ I don’t think I’ll do much in the way of 
cheering any of them: it’s too great a bore.” 

“ If you feel that way, Mr. Dubois, you 
can remain here while I go to the game 
with papa.” 

“ Oh, it’s a pleasure to be with you any- 
where,” he said, with another smile, which 
brought a blush to the face of the young 
lady. 

It was only a little while before this that 
Dorothy had laid out the contents of their 
big lunch basket on the leaves, and soon the 
delicious repast was being discussed with 
appreciation by the four. 

When the meal was over and the nap- 
kins and dishes replaced in the lunch basket, 
Clarence produced a cigarette, whose golden 
band contained his initials, and lay back 
with his shoulders against the oak. It took 
only a few whiffs to consume the nicotine 
and rice paper, when he stood up. 


Rivals 


259 


“Now, Dorothy, for the boat ride,” he 
said with more animation than he had yet 
shown; “I promised to give you one after 
lunch, doncherknow? ” 

“Will you go with us, papa?” 

“ Thank you, my daughter, I would rather 
stay here and move around among the peo- 
ple; it’s a pleasure to have a chat like this 
with them.” 

“ Will you go with us, Mr. Chandler? ” 

“I beg pardon,” interposed Dubois; “but 
I believe this was to be a ride for you and 
me, unless your father is willing to make 
one of the company.” 

“ I prefer to stay with the doctor; I have 
several matters which I should like to dis- 
cuss with him,” said Dick with dignity. 

“ I’ll excuse you, Dick; go along,” was 
the genial remark of the old clergyman. 

“I am afraid I should be an intruder; 
I have no wish to interfere with any one’s 
pleasure.” 

Just then Dick caught the eye of the 
daughter, who was standing slightly back of 
her escort. She shook her head and said 
spiritedly: 

“ You would not intrude at all. It is my 
wish that you go with us.” 


260 


The Worst Boy 


“ Very well; if you put it that way, I 
can’t refuse.” 

Clarence did not seem to hear a word. 
He started toward the lake, Dorothy fol- 
lowing, while Dick brought up the rear. 
He half regretted his acceptance of the 
invitation, but a smiling glance which she 
cast over her shoulder made him glad, after 
all, that he was to be one of the party. 

At the side of the water, Clarence assisted 
Dorothy into the craft and she seated her- 
self at the stern, where he sat down beside 
her, trimming the boat so that it was evenly 
balanced. 

“ That looks as if I am expected to do 
the rowing,” said Dick with a laugh, “ which 
suits me.” 

He shoved off, stepped lightly within, 
adjusted the oars in the rowlocks, and 
grasped them in his muscular hands. Since 
abundant time was at command, he swung 
the blades slowly, heading out upon the 
lake. One peculiarity of this sheet of water 
was that its depth increased rapidly, so that 
twenty feet from shore it was over the head 
of a tall man, while beyond it was much 
deeper. 

Dick’s intention was to cross to the other 


Rivals 


261 

side and then coast under the overhanging 
limbs to their starting point; but he had 
hardly reached the deepest portion when 
Clarence Dubois, with a meaning grin, laid 
down the parasol he had been holding, rose 
to his feet, and began rocking the boat. 
Dick looked at him in amazement, not com- 
prehending, at first, what he meant. Nat- 
urally Dorothy was scared, though she was 
a fine swimmer. 

“ Don’t do that! ” she called, reaching up, 
seizing his arm, and trying to pull him down 
beside her. He shook her off, grinned more 
expansively than before, and rocked the boat 
harder than ever. 

“ What do you mean?” she called; “ you 
will upset us! ” 

The next impulse caused the craft to ship 
water on one side and then quickly upon 
the other. Dick awoke from his trance. 
His superior strength would have made it 
easy for him to neutralize the efforts of 
the idiot, but instead of doing so, he stopped 
rowing and thundered “ Stop!” 

Clarence paid no attention. He was en- 
joying the sport and kept it up. Dick did 
not repeat his command. Lifting one oar 
from its rowlock, he deftly placed the blade 


262 


The Worst Boy 


against the immaculate white vest of Dubois, 
and gave a single, vigorous shove. It was 
certainly effective. 

Taken thus unawares, the fop toppled 
over backward, his feet flying up, his hat 
dropping from his head, and, clawing the 
air, he splashed down out of sight. 

“O Dick!” exclaimed the terrified Dor- 
othy; “ he will drown!” 

It was the first time she had ever ad- 
dressed him by his first name, and even in 
that exciting moment he noticed it. 

“ Don’t you think that is the best use we 
can make of him? ” 

She caught his meaning; he was closely 
watching the fellow and would not let him 
perish. 

Dubois went under at first, but quickly 
came up, gasping and struggling in affright. 
His hat had fallen off, but a silken cord 
held it fast to a buttonhole of his coat, and 
his eyeglasses were secured in somewhat the 
same manner. Dubois knew a little about 
swimming, but like many beginners, he ex- 
ecuted his art in steamboat fashion. His 
hands and feet kept striking the surface, 
sending the water flying in all directions. 
Thus he managed to get forward at a slow 


Rivals 263 

rate. He was heading for the boat and 
struggling desperately. 

Dick allowed him to clutch the gunwale, 
but when he tried to climb in, stopped him. 

“ You can’t come in here, Clarence, until 
you promise to be a good little boy.” 

“ Wh-wh-at do you mean?” spluttered 
the indignant fellow, as he was pushed back. 

“Just what I said; you have been 
naughty; if I served you right, I shouldn’t 
let you hang on where you are, but you 
can stay there while I row ashore. Now 
mind; if you try to climb into the boat I’ll 
push you back, and then maybe you’ll drown. 
Think of it!” 

Clarence looked appealingly at Dorothy, 
but as he was about to speak he saw that the 
girl was laughing. So he hung on, while 
the vulgar ball player deliberately swung 
the oars and kept keen watch. 

“Now, Clarence,” said Dick after a time, 
“ we are so close to shore that you can walk. 
Don’t be afraid; the water isn’t over your 
head.” 

Just then Dubois felt the toes of his shoes 
touch bottom. He had donned his hat and 
now slid his glasses in place. Letting him- 
self down, he waded out, the water dripping 


The Worst Boy 


264 

from his clothes and “ squizzling ” upward 
from his patent leather shoes, as he strad- 
dled out upon hard ground. He had taken 
two or three steps when he stopped abruptly, 
turned round, fixed a crushing look upon the 
occupants of the boat, and called out in 
blood-chilling tones: 

“ Dorothy Hemingway, I’ll never speak 
to you again ! ” 

Dick held the oars motionless, while he 
and his companion watched the young man 
until he disappeared among the trees. Then 
they looked at each other. 

“ Don’t you think he deserved it? ” asked 
Dick. 

“ He did, and I am glad you punished him.” 

“You heard his dreadful threat; can you 
stand it? ” 

“ I shall try to bear up ; he did not men- 
tion your name, but I am sure you are 
included in the punishment.” 

“ For which many thanks. Since Clar- 
ence Dubois seems to be eliminated from 
the situation, I shall, if agreeable to you, 
make a circuit of the lake, and when you 
wish, we’ll walk with your father to the 
ball grounds, unless he has found better 
company.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE GREAT BALL GAME 

It was still early, for the game was not 
to begin until three, but the people began 
converging toward the field long before 
that time. When Chandler and Dorothy 
landed, half of those who had been attend- 
ing the picnic had left or were beginning 
to leave. Doctor Hemingway was not vis- 
ible and the conclusion was reasonable that 
he had gone ahead with some of his friends. 

“ Who is to umpire to-day?” asked Dor- 
othy, as the two sauntered forward. 

“Asaph Jenkins; he acted as umpire last 
summer I am told, as he did at the two 
previous games this season; although not 
a player himself, he knows every point, and 
is quick and impartial in his judgment. 
These admirable qualities are so marked 
with him that even the Ridgewoods prefer 
him to any other man in that position.” 

“ I don’t envy him his office; it is shame- 
ful the way the players abuse the umpire, 

265 


266 


The Worst Boy 


no matter how honest and capable he is; 
my heart has often ached for him.” 

“ I think it is the last duty in the world 
I should wish to undertake. Still I believe 
there has never been any trouble with 
Asaph, though, if the game is close to-day, 
he is sure to be abused. Well, here we are. 
What a lot of spectators!” 

The grounds could not have been better 
fitted for their purpose. A dozen acres were 
as level as a floor and the grass was cut 
close. The most powerful batter that ever 
swung the willow could not drive the ball 
beyond bounds. Since no admission was 
charged, there was no inclosing fence. 
Ropes were stretched so as to shut off the 
crowd from interfering with the players, 
and no trouble in that respect had as yet 
occurred. 

A thousand people, men, women, and 
children, must have been gathered around 
this field, where they used umbrellas, and 
sunshades as best they could, for there was 
no natural protecting shade; but the day 
was pleasant, and had it been really hot it 
would not have made any difference to 
players and spectators. 

As Dick and Dorothy came in sight of 


The Great Ball Game 267 

the grounds they saw that the Ridgewoods 
had already arrived and were practising 
with the ball. The respective partisans 
were gathered opposite each other in order 
that no discordant note might mar the ap- 
plause with which they expected to split 
the air. 

Doctor Hemingway, Deacon Whitsett, 
and Squire Redwood were sitting in a group 
on the grass, joking with one another, just 
as if they were three boys. Dick led Doro- 
thy to them, and she sat down, and straight- 
way became an active fourth member of the 
party. Then Chandler strolled nearer the 
plate in order to take up the practice when 
the others withdrew from the field to give 
them the chance. 

Asaph Jenkins caught sight of him and 
hurried from the bench where he had been 
sitting with the Ampere players. His face 
had an anxious expression. 

“What’s the matter, Asaph?” asked Dick, 
as he shook his hand. 

“ The Ridgewoods have played a mean 
trick on us.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“They have rung in two professionals; 
they are determined to win the game to-day, 


268 


The Worst Boy 


and it doesn’t look to me as if anything 
can stop them.” 

“ How do you know the men are profes- 
sionals? ” 

“ I know one of them, and it is safe to 
say the other is. My man is the catcher, but 
the pitcher is a stranger to me. The catcher 
is now batting.” 

“You say you know him? I never saw 
him before; who is he?” 

“ Our college club played the New 
Havens two years ago and Jim Payson was 
their catcher; he was a good one, too; that’s 
the fellow who is knocking bingoes that 
threaten to cleave the sky.” 

“Where is their pitcher?” 

“ Standing on third and attending to every 
ball that burns the grass in his neighborhood. 
Payson was introduced to me by Captain 
Ahearn as Oren Budd, a new drug clerk 
in Ridgewood. I didn’t recognize him at 
first, but a few minutes later I caught on.” 

“ Did you say anything? Does he know 
it?” 

“ I decided to wait till I had a chance to 
speak to you.” 

“ I am glad of that; have you told any of 
our players?” 


The Great Ball Game 269 

“Yes; I told them all, and they agreed 
to wait till you arrived.” 

During this brief conversation Dick was 
closely studying the man on third, who cer- 
tainly showed up well in practice. The 
distance was too far to see clearly and the 
two friends sauntered over to a point back 
of the player. At that moment his cap 
fell off as he made a grab at a ball that 
skipped past him. When he stooped to 
pick up his headgear, the captain of the 
Amperes recognized him. He exclaimed in 
an undertone to Jenkins: 

“That’s Tom Wilton, as sure as I live!” 

“ Who is Tom Wilton? ” asked Jenkins. 

“ And you pretend to know a good deal 
of baseball!” said Dick reprovingly. 

“ It’s the first time I have heard his 
name.” 

“ He used to be the pitcher on the Alham- 
bras and was one of the best in the business. 
We’re up against it.” 

“What is he doing here?” 

“Practising just now. Watch him!” 

With only a few rods separating the two 
friends from third base, Dick called in a 
brisk tone: 

“ Hello, Wilton, how are you?” 


The Worst Boy 


270 

The fellow turned his head like a flash. 

“ What do you want? ” he gruffly asked. 

“ Nothing; you and Oren Budd make a 
good team; I am afraid you will be too 
much for us.” 

The new pitcher awoke to the fact that 
he had made a slip. 

“ Who are you? My name is Wirt Jones; 
what’s the matter with you, eh? ” 

“I know that Jones is your name for 
to-day and Payson is playing under that of 
Budd.” 

“ Don’t get too flip, sonny. What of 
it?” asked the other threateningly: “what 
are you going to do about it? ” 

“ We are going to beat you, even if you 
bring seven more professionals.” 

Wilton herewith trotted to the plate and 
took the bat from Payson. Dick walked 
over to his players. 

“ We can’t do anything,” he said. 
“ Wilton and Payson have been given some 
kind of work in Ridgewood so as to estab- 
lish a claim to membership of their club. 
Even if they beat us, the world won’t cease 
to revolve.” 

“ Don’t you think we ought to protest to 
Ahearn?” asked Buck Smith. 


The Great Ball Game 271 

“ He and Wilton are talking together; I 
wished them to know that we recognized 
them; let it go at that.” 

Jenkins drew Dick aside and said in an 
undertone : 

“ Wilton has threatened me.” 

“What do you mean?” asked the aston- 
ished captain of the Amperes. 

“ He told me that if I didn’t give his 
club a square deal he would attend to me 
after the game.” 

Dick’s eyes flashed. 

“ That certainly was meant to intimidate 
you; Asaph, umpire just as you have always 
done, and I’ll see that you are not harmed; 
if Mr. Wilton tries that business, I’ll attend 
to him.” 

“ I don’t wish to get you into any trouble,” 
said his disturbed friend. 

“You won’t,” remarked Dick significantly. 

A few minutes later, Dick met Captain 
Ahearn of the Ridgewoods. The latter 
wore a foolish smile, like one detected in a 
mean act. He evidently was prepared for 
a protest, but Dick said nothing. They 
agreed upon Jenkins for umpire, and in 
accordance with a former understanding, 
the Amperes went first to bat. The hun- 


272 The Worst Boy 

dreds of spectators fringing the grounds be- 
came hushed and tensely attentive. 

When Chandler, as first batsman, stepped 
to the plate, he was greeted by a general 
clapping of hands. The majority of visitors 
joined in the applause, for he was respected 
and liked by them. Standing thus, graceful, 
expectant, and alert, Dick heard several in- 
sulting expressions in which Catcher Payson 
was indulging. They were meant to annoy 
him, but he paid no heed. Jenkins heard 
them and raised his hand as an order for 
the pitcher, who was about to deliver the 
ball, to wait. 

“ If there is anything more of that,” said 
the umpire to the catcher; “ I’ll put you 
out of the game.” 

“ He doesn’t bother me,” remarked Dick 
with a light laugh, “ and perhaps he feels 
better.” 

“ He will annoy others; it is not true 
sport.” 

Payson was about to make a defiant reply, 
but suddenly changed his mind. With an 
irritating grin, he said: 

“Don’t be horrid, Mr. Umpire; I’ll try 
to be real good.” 

“One strike!” shouted Jenkins, as the 


The Great Ball Game 273 

ball cut the plate fairly, and at an instant 
when Chandler was not expecting it. The 
second ball followed in the path of the first, 
and Dick caught it on the end of his bat. 
There was a crack like the report of a 
pistol, and the sphere went sailing skyward, 
so far over the center fielder’s head that, 
although he started on a desperate run after 
it, it was plain it would fall beyond his 
reach. 

Again the visitors from Ridgewood joined 
in the applause, as Dick ran leisurely around 
the bases, and tapped one foot on the home- 
plate, at the moment when the ball started 
on its aerial journey from deep center. 

Captain Ahearn, who played first, was 
angry. He strode across to the pitcher. 

“ Didn’t I tell you not to do that? Pass 
him every time.” 

“ I’ll see to it after this,” replied Wilton; 
“ I wanted to find out whether he was such 
a great batter as you folks said.” 

“Well, I guess you found out; he’ll do 
that right along if you give him a chance.” 

Buck followed his captain. He struck a 
couple of fouls, and then sent a ball skipping 
to second. The fielder captured and hurled 
it to first in time to head off Buck, who 


The Worst Boy 


274 

was striving with might and main to reach 
the goal. Each of the following batsmen 
went out on flies. Wilton was pitching 
well. Indeed, all his side did finely in the 
first half of the inning. 

Captain Ahearn was the first one up. 
After he had whizzed his bat twice through 
space, he drove a bounder straight to Dick. 
As Dick snatched it from the ground he 
held it an instant and called: 

“ I hate to do it, Cap, but there’s no help 
for it.” 

And the sphere sped across the diamond 
like an arrow from the bow, straight into 
the mitt of the first baseman, while the 
fiercely-running captain was yet several 
yards from the bag. 

The next batter was the mighty Wilton, 
husky, powerful, and a veteran ball-player. 
Dick longed for a chance to put him out, 
but the wily fellow cut the grass between 
first and second with such vim that he 
reached second ahead of the ball. Payson 
followed with another in precisely the same 
place, and Wilton came home. The next 
two went out on fouls. Thus the first 
inning closed with a run for each side. 

Both nines played well. Once Buck 


The Great Ball Game 


275 


“ went up in the air,” as the expression goes, 
but a few encouraging words from Dick 
brought him down again. He never pitched 
better, though he was hardly the equal of 
Wilton. Not once did the latter give Dick 
another chance. Despite the taunts of the 
spectators he allowed the Ampere captain 
to walk to first each time. Twice this proved 
costly, for there were men on bases ahead of 
him, and as often one of them was batted 
home. Buck was delighted when it fell to 
him thus to aid his captain. The work of 
the umpire was so simple and his rulings 
so fair that there was no trouble until the 
eighth inning. Then a “ ruction ” came. 

The Ridgewoods were at the bat. The 
score was a tie; two were out, and Wilton 
was on second, from which point he shouted 
to Payson to line her out. Payson was as 
eager to oblige as his friend to reach home- 
plate. If it could be done, the visitors 
would be a run ahead, while the Amperes 
had only one more turn at the bat. 

Dick called to Buck to keep cool and take 
his time. Flynn saw that Wilton was 
gathering himself for a dash to third, and 
was edging perilously far off second. He 
meant to attempt it, as soon as Buck made 


276 The Worst Boy 

the preliminary motion to pitch. Dick 
observed the same thing and was on the alert 
to take the ball from the catcher, with the 
probabilities that there would be a collision 
between him and Wilton in the latter’s 
efforts to make third. 

Suddenly Buck caught the signal of his 
catcher. It said: 

“Throw to second!” 

Buck whirled and shot the ball like a rifle 
shot. The second baseman snapped it upon 
the massive shoulder a breath before Wilton 
slapped his shoe on the bag. 

“Out at second!” proclaimed the um- 
pire. 

“What!” shouted the furious runner, as 
if he could not believe his ears. 

“You’re out!” repeated Jenkins, waving 
him off the field. As he was the third 
player down, all the other Amperes began 
hurrying in from the field. 

Dick saw that Wilton was heading for the 
umpire. He therefore increased his pace 
so as to arrive at the same moment. The 
countenance of the professional was aflame. 

“ Say, what do you mean by that deci- 
sion? What are you giving us?” 

“ You were out fairly, and you know it.” 


The Great Ball Game 277 

“ I told you if you didn’t give us a square 
deal,” threatened Wilton, “ I’d settle with 
you; just chew that over and don’t sneak 
off the field after the next inning, but take 
your medicine like a man.” 

“ Tom Wilton,” said Dick, stepping in 
front of him, “ Mr. Jenkins has umpired 
fairly; you have threatened him, and I now 
threaten you: If you lay the weight of 
your finger on him, I’ll send you to the hos- 
pital within the next five minutes!” 

Brief as was the angry discussion, it 
quickly brought the other players around 
the little group, while many of the specta- 
tors began flocking upon the diamond. Wil- 
ton was dazed for an instant by Chandler’s 
words and manner, as Dick shook his fore- 
finger almost against the other’s red nose. 
The professional ordinarily would have been 
a tough nut to crack, but the “ old Adam ” 
in Dick yearned for the excuse. As for 
Asaph Jenkins, he was smiling in his one- 
sided way. 

“Wilton, here’s your chance; give me a 
love-tap, so that Dick will have an excuse 
to smash you to smithereens,” and he stepped 
tauntingly in front of the bully. 

Captain Ahearn interfered at this critical 


The Worst Boy 


278 

moment. Slipping his arm under that of 
Wilton, he forced him away from the spot. 
He talked earnestly with him. One of the 
Ampere players who passed them heard 
Ahearn say: 

“ He’ll do what he said he would, if you 
touch the umpire. I don’t care if he is a 
parson, he’s one of the greatest fighters in 
the country; you were put out fairly: what’s 
the sense of kicking? ” 

Wilton made a sullen answer, which the 
Ampere player did not catch. 

It was now the last turn of the Amperes 
at the bat, unless the score should continue 
a tie, in which event an extra inning or more 
of course would be necessary. The first 
one up was Larry Murphy, the center fielder 
and the poorest batter on the nine. He had 
not yet made a hit and was followed by 
two other weak batters. The outlook was 
gloomy. 

But one of the attractions of the great 
American game is the unexpected, which is 
likely to happen at any stage of the sport. 
Larry made a bunt and reached first. 
Straightway he dived for second. He had 
not run more than two-thirds of the dis- 
tance when Payson, the catcher, threw un- 


The Great Ball Game 279 

erringly to the baseman there. He in his 
nervousness made his first misplay, the ball 
bounding from his hands and rolling so far 
afield that Larry, amid the cheering and 
laughter of his friends, scrambled to third. 
The batter who followed him made another 
successful bunt, and Larry slid to the plate 
amid a cloud of dust. Those who followed 
were quickly put out. 

Thus, when the Ridgewoods went to the 
bat, they needed a run to tie and two to win 
the game. Once more Buck Smith lost his 
nerve for a moment and passed two of his 
opponents. Dick spoke soothingly to him 
and he pulled himself together again. Then 
Ike Flynn, his catcher, in his straining eager- 
ness had his first passed ball and each 
runner moved up. All the bases were occu- 
pied and not a man of the Ridgewoods was 
out. 

Tom Wilton stepped confidently to the 
plate. He signaled to the runners to make 
a break the instant he hit the ball, which he 
was certain he would do. It would be a 
sort of “ squeeze play,” though accompanied 
by great risk. 

Tom struck viciously at the first ball 
pitched, and couldn’t have met it more 


280 


The Worst Boy 


squarely. So lightning-like was the rebound 
from his bat that only one person for the in- 
stant saw where the sphere went: that person 
was Dick Chandler, who was standing on 
third bag. What he did was instinctive. It 
seemed that in the same second that Wilton 
hit the ball, it landed in the hands of Dick, 
who, without moving a foot, touched the 
runner standing a couple of paces away, 
who was waiting to see where the sphere 
had gone. 

The runner on second made a dive 
for third, and was well on his way when he 
awoke to his mistake. He saw the third 
baseman, ball in hand, coming toward him 
like a runaway engine. He checked him- 
self, turned to go back to second, slipped 
slightly, quickly recovered, but by that time 
Dick was upon him, and tapped him twice 
with the ball between the shoulders. 

Dick Chandler had made a triple play 
unassisted — an exploit which has not been 
seen three times in the history of baseball. 

The game was won and the Amperes were 
the champions for the season! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


TWO DECISIONS 

At the close of a soft summer afternoon 
Dick Chandler and Dorothy Hemingway 
strolled down to the edge of the woods by 
the lake where the picnic was held a few 
weeks before. Both were thoughtful, for 
Dick had told his friend that he wished her 
advice upon a matter that was important to 
him. When they came to a fallen tree, at 
his invitation she sat down while he placed 
himself beside her. 

It should be understood that her seat was 
at the base of the trunk, while he modestly 
located himself quite near the knot farthest 
removed. It would have been quite easy 
for two persons to sit between them without 
discomfort. 

“ Miss Hemingway,” said Dick gravely, 
“ since your father has few or no secrets 
from you, I suppose he has told you of his 
resignation as pastor of Ampere church.” 

“ I have been urging it upon him for 

281 


282 


The Worst Boy 


months past,” she quietly replied; “ his 
labors during the revival have worn him 
down; he is well past three-score and ten; 
he has served his Master well and has 
earned rest.” 

“ I agree with you ; are you aware that I 
have been asked to take his place? ” 

She looked across to him with a bright 
smile. 

“ No urging by him was needed to bring 
that about; I can safely say that not only 
every member of the official board, but every 
member of the church and congregation, de- 
sires you to become our pastor.” 

“ Then you advise me to accept? ” 

“ That is a question to which you your- 
self must give the answer.” 

Dick saw the justice of her reply, and 
yet it caused him a tinge of disappointment. 
He yearned to hear her say she personally 
wished him to become their minister, so he 
said, 

“ I should be glad to know your feelings 
in the matter.” 

“ I have already told you.” 

“When?” 

“lama member of the church and con- 
gregation.” 


Two Decisions 


283 


He laughed at her readiness. 

“Does not the greater include the less?” 
she added. 

“ That is an axiom; so you consider your- 
self the less?” 

“ I am only one among many.” 

Silence fell for a few moments upon the 
two. Then he spoke with unusual serious- 
ness : 

“ My stay in Ampere has proved the road 
to Damascus for me.” 

“ I am not quite sure I understand you, 
Mr. Chandler.” 

“ When the apostle set out for Damas- 
cus ” 

“ To persecute the brethren,” she inter- 
jected with a sly look, for she now under- 
stood what was coming. 

“True; but on the way he saw a great 
light. Although I am a licensed preacher 
I have not yet been ordained. I have told 
you and your father the reason: the indi- 
cations were not clear as to what field I 
should enter; I have been waiting for the 
light.” 

“ Has it come? ” 

“ It has; it shows me that here is my field 
of labor: my experience in Ampere has 


The Worst Boy 


284 

brushed away all mists; every doubt is re- 
moved: I accepted the offer last evening.” 

“ I am aware of that.” 

“ But I have not yet informed your 
father.” 

“ You told Uncle Silas Redwood, how- 
ever, and after you had gone to your room, 
he stole out of the house and hurried over 
to the parsonage with the good news.” 

“ The sly rascal! It’s just like him.” 

Again silence fell upon the couple. 
Finally Dick asked: 

“ Did the squire tell your father what he 
said to me?” 

“ He may have done so, but what could 
he say except to express his pleasure?” 

“Well,” exclaimed Dick, rousing himself; 
“ I’ll tell you his words.” 

“ Have you Uncle Silas’s permission to 
betray him? ” gently asked the young woman. 

“ Did he ask my permission to say what 
he did to the doctor? ” 

“ I presume not, from the excitement you 
show.” 

“ Well, then I sha’n’t ask his. He said 
there was only one objection to my becom- 
ing pastor of Ampere church, but it could 
be readily removed.” 






















' 




















































































THE NEW CLERGYMAN OUGHT TO BE A MARRIED MAN.” 




Two Decisions 285 

“ Then he is not fully satisfied with your 
qualifications? ” 

“ It is hardly that; he insists that the new 
clergyman ought to be a married man.” 

“ That sounds sensible; Uncle Silas and 
Aunt Samantha have lived so long and so 
happily together that naturally he wishes 
others to enjoy the same good fortune.” 

“ I agree with the squire.” 

Dorothy Hemingway was impatient with 
herself that she could not repress the gentle 
blush that began stealing over her cheeks. 
That instinct which belongs to her sex told 
her what was “ in the air,” though her words 
gave no intimation of such knowledge. 

“ So fine a ball player as you, one so 
popular among the young and old men, and 
I may add among the young and old ladies, 
too, will have no difficulty in finding one 
well fitted and willing to become your life 
partner. You must not select — if you will 
allow me to suggest — a young and frivolous 
girl, nor one who is austere and unchar- 
itable.” 

“Where shall I find the proper one?” 

“ There are plenty of them and in your 
own congregation, too. It would be well 
if she were several years older than you, like 


286 


The Worst Boy 


the good Mrs. Connell; I have been told 
that such marriages are the happiest.” 

“I don’t believe it! Doctor Hemingway 
has invited me several times to make my 
home with him.” 

“ You do not need me to assure you that 
you will be welcome.” 

“Now that I have decided to accept this 
call, would it be in good taste for me to 
occupy the parsonage?” 

“ I surely think so.” 

“ I told the doctor yesterday that I should 
be delighted to accept his invitation, but 
it must be on one condition. His daughter 
must become my wife — did he tell you 
that? ” demanded Dick in dismay. 

The woods rang with Dorothy’s laughter. 

“He certainly did; haven’t you learned 
yet that papa and I have no secrets from 
each other? ” 

“And what did you say to him?” 
“Now, Dick!” 


OCT 22 1912 












